


Deep Within My Bones

by Creme13rulee



Series: Deep Within My Bones AU [1]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Love at First Sight, M/M, Multi, Slow Burn, Terminal Illnesses, ableism at first
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-04
Updated: 2017-09-04
Packaged: 2018-10-14 23:09:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 28
Words: 44,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10545924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Creme13rulee/pseuds/Creme13rulee
Summary: AU. Viktor wins another gold at the Olympics, and attends the Paralympics as another duty as the King of Ice Skating. Having lost his inspiration and heart, Viktor did not expect to find love in what he sees as the perfect man. Yuuri, after losing his legs, gives up competing on the same ice as his idol. When the world seems to fall into place, what else can be taken away from them?Ch 1-6 is Setup, start at Ch. 6 for the romantic fluff and drama. Complete.





	1. Sochi

 

    Viktor sent a sidelong glance at his travel companion, Cristophe, as said man pursed his lips and practically made out with the airport bathroom mirror.  Viktor supposed he could indulge him, after all…His best friend in skating had flown longer than Viktor, who had only had a three hour jump from home. He had spent the few days between standing on the podium in Sochi back home with Makkachin. After spending the week at the Olympics, he had spent the small amount of energy he had. He lost the strength he had to put up the happy mask. Which is why he had gone home to the only soul he could show his true, honest face to.He had been cuddling with her when Yakov called… and called again, calling enough times they he knew it wasn’t a message he could ignore.  The IOC, and apparently Yakov as well, had decided that sending the podium winners to the Paralympics would be a good way to get some positive press about back in the news. Especially when the golden prince of iceskating belonged to the host country. Thank God Cristophe  had placed second, or Viktor would have been even more reluctant to leave his apartment and  Makkachin alone. No rest for the wicked, after all.

    “Do you think they’ll have champagne at the banquet?”  Cristophe had managed a perfect selfie even in the sickly fluorescent lighting. The main show would be happening in a few hours. Viktor could have arrived the day before, but had chosen to arrive the day of the main skating events. Viktor had done it  mainly to delay the time he had to spend back in the limelight… but to Yakov, and to anyone else, it was in order to meet  Cristophe. Viktor hadn’t been pressed further than that. He was rarely pushed for details or reasons. Not since the second gold medal. Or maybe it was the third? There were too many to count, and with each new medal came another loss of meaning.

    Christophe shrugged “Who knows? As long as it’s a party.” He pursed his lips one last time before they wordlessly drifted toward the exit. They had spent enough time together at international competitions alone to build their own silent cues and language.  Viktor was fine with delaying their departure from the airport. He would gladly spend another twenty minutes, an hour inside that bathroom. There would be press before they could get their luggage. Beyond that, who knew? It was winter. Cold, blustery, blank. Much like Viktor felt inside. He would smile, appear where he was told to go, and leave when he had clocked enough hours to placate the media.  He hadn’t looked into who was skating. Yakov and little Yuri would be angry if they knew. But it was just another year, another gold medal. At some point you had to force new ways to be surprised.   Viktor squinted into the bright white daylight, what little sun reflecting off the snow outside and spilling into the baggage claim. He had traveled the world, but somehow, every airport seemed the same. Large windows. Everyone moving to somewhere else. Nowhere to hide.

    After their short appearance for the press, the two met Yakov and the car just outside the airport.  The old man was out in the cold, his nose red and breath coming out in a large cloud. Yuri, predictably, was sitting in the car, playing some sort of  handheld video game Viktor didn’t recognize. Yakov pulled Viktor into a rough, one-armed hug. For a moment his heart-stilled. Did Yakov notice? Had he become too complacent? He was so caught within his panic that he barely caught his coach’s last few words. Congratulations, thank god.  The old man was being fuzzy and proud, not over attentive.  His act, however old and replayed, still held its audience. Viktor picked back up his smile, remembering to give the old man a light squeeze  before he slid into the backseat, managing to shock the blonde out of his angry reverie.

    “Congratulations, Yuratchka.” He said with as much brightness as he could, trying to make  his face shine. He earned a glare in reply. The boy had only been under Yakov for a few years, but he had already beat the old man to the punch.  There was no way to fool Yuri, even with more practice and experience.

    “You should have said that at the finals.”  Yuri muttered, going back to his video game. The junior games had just finished. He remembered watching them at home before taking Makkachin for an evening stroll. He hadn’t the energy to watch, attend the parties (and the private ‘after-parties’) at the life event.  Not knowing, however, would be a sin.  While Viktor Nikiforov was a king, and a sinner, he was not a fool.  He had done his duty, even though it was done through a distance.

   “I should have,” Viktor breathed before falling into quiet. Cristophe kept himself busy on his phone, after a few short English  pleasantries exchanged  with Yakov. Viktor focused on the window, the glass fogging up as if Yuri’s anger had burned through his skin and dissipated into the air. The car company had not cleaned the window, the faint ghost outlines of genitalia and handprints appearing in the condensation. Hundreds had probably sat in these same seats. Perhaps people bigger and more important than Viktor Nikiforov, world-record holder, 5 time gold Medalist, treasure of the motherland. Had they left their mark, or did they blend in with the mess of fingerprints and smears of oil, destined to be wiped off at the end of the week?  Did anyone else feel as inconsequential? Or were they more than a newspaper article and poster, something beyond the competitions and Olympics?

  They arrived to the stadium, though the crowds of people had  thinned.  With the grey weather and threat of snow, it almost looked like the Olympic oval had been abandoned. The buildings were still lit up, scrolling through the list of names of those who would compete today. They might as well had been blurred, or blank. No one paid attention.

  “You'll be in the front behind the kiss and cry. Don’t embarrass me.” Yakov grunted when they got close.  His tenderness had worn off, either by the ride or the cold atmosphere that had grown in the ride over.  Like everything else, it didn’t matter much .Viktor readied himself for the press again, and another long day to live through.

   If anything, it was interesting to see who went on the ice.  Some American who needed visual cues to the music, watching a coach with bright red gloves and the tackiest shirt Viktor had ever witnessed. Another skater completed a moving piece, but Viktor had been distracted by the thick heavy lenses strapped to the skaters face, rather than the costume. He knew the mechanics of jumping, just how to balance your weight to get the maximum spin. Without a competition to worry about, the world champion only was curious about what made them different. What made them so special to make him fly back to the godforsaken city.  He was about to peek at Yakov to see if he could sneak a scroll through Instagram before something caught his eye. Yuri was watching, something he hadn’t done for the past hour and a half. His game-toy ( or whatever is was called) was closed and stuck in the pocket of his jersey. It was new, and stood stiffer with the patches of new sponsors Viktor had failed to notice. Viktor followed his eyes to the ice, watching a navy blue figure glide to the center. Viktor frowned. He had missed the announcement, and a cursory glance told him nothing. There were no athletic straps holding goggles on. The coach, while a little easter-man looking, wasn’t ready to cue.  Other than looking a little stiff and nervous, there was nothing different about this skater. He hit his cue, raising his arms at the exact moment. The lutz was flawless. His costume sparkled with every graceful movement What was this man doing here?  Viktor turned to look at Yuri, who was watching intently. He nudged the boy, “America?” He said out of the side of his mouth. He didn’t expect Yuri to answer. They hadn’t said anything since their moment in the car, but today was his lucky day.

  “Japan.” Yuri looked disgusted.  He must have done his research.  Despite his attitude and sourness, he was still fighting to impress Yakov. And impress Viktor.

 “Is it an intermission?” He said, out loud, much to his dismay, watching the step sequence. A little stiff, but a step above than what he had seen. And expected out of his event.  Why was he here? On this rink? And why did he have no idea who he was?

 The rest of the skaters went by in a blur. As expected, mystery man returned to the ice, taking the podium for silver. The scores reflected exactly what he expected, the lower points where he had thought the skater was too stiff,  a spin that hadn’t ended nicely.  Viktor felt  fire lick at his belly, enraged that the  man who had done so well hadn’t reached gold.  It went undeserving to someone else, a skater he couldn’t name or remember. Probably one who had skated after Japan had stolen his attention. No one that deserved gold. Viktor knew, somewhere in the back of his mind that  the competition awarded points to the mechanics of the sport, and not  just to pure and perfect bodies. But it still felt wrong.

* * *

 

The ride to the hotel was just as quiet. Cristophe was jet-lagged and determined to make it to the party.  He had his routine to go through… water, meditation, a long-distance chat with some mystery man. Viktor knew better than to interrupt that.

Yuri… was Yuri… and Viktor was on Wikipedia.ru determined to find the roster of the skaters that had played that day.  He frowned, pushing his thumb against the screen, scrolling through the endless list. None of the cryllic character stood out to him. English blurred in, until finally he saw some other curlique –ish writing interrupt the blur of his native language. He immediately tapped it, expecting to go to another article about this perfect man. But no dice. It reloaded the Japanese federation site. His eyes crossed with the combination of rows of kanji and indecipherable words and the carsickness boiling in the seat of his stomach. The pictures took much longer to load, but it was the only thing of use. There he was… Viktor’s mystery man, in another blue outfit. The same perfect face. Perfect shoulders. And nothing else.

Viktor wished for the older technology of flip phones, so he could at least vent his frustration by snapping the phone shut. A button push just didn’t cut it. Nothing? It wasn’t _the_ Olympics, but it was still an international event. Why wasn’t there more?

His stomach  nor his head could stand the switch to the English webpage, so Viktor spent the rest of the ride staring out the window, pinching the bridge of his nose.  Without a name to place, he only had the images playing over and over his head. Arms lifting in a graceful arc.  A slow bend into a tight spin. Why was this figure burned into his head? Why did he want more?

The promise of hearing a name attached to the ghost in his mind was the only thing that got Viktor up in time for the gala. He had ordered a bottle of wine, pretending he’d share it for Cristophe as a thanks for coming back with him. It didn’t last that long, or rather, Viktor’s inhibitions didn’t. The bottle was gone before the hour. He had enough time to dress into a smart suit, the one he had left from the main events. It had stayed in his suitcase, a spare, but at home in St. Peterburg, he hadn’t the energy to go to the dry cleaners. It would have to do. The grey matched the weather outside, and his mind inside. All he saw was the ice, and the navy blue moving across it.

 

That man was driving him crazy.


	2. Gala

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Viktor finds his perfection, in the least perfect way.

 

   The gala was no different than the hundreds he had attended before. Hired caterers circled the room. Champagne poured in celebration and solace. The only difference was that the small talk occurred between wheelchairs and crutches, and hockey teams stood in the far corner. Viktor had his competitors-cum-companions with him. But he did not see the silver medalist anywhere. He had not left his mind for hours, but perhaps he had left the country. Viktor was about to give up and go for another class of champagne, when Cristophe caught his arm. “Here you are! Here he is. How long has it been since the Cup of China?” Give it to Cristophe to chatter up a storm and loop him into some other conversation. Who in the world—from the China cup would be here, of all places?  
“Viktor! Nice to see you again!” He had enough time to smile before the familiar face snapped a selfie. Go figure. That boy could take it in his sleep and still look perfect. “Phichit! What are you doing here?” He said, trying to cover his genuine shock with warmth and curiosity. The Thai skater easily carried on the conversation while uploading and tagging it on Instagram. Most likely without breaking eye contact once.  
“I’ve come almost every year since junior leagues to support my bestie.” Phichit was all smiles, so pure. No wonder he was the second-most popular photo in all the gossipy and girly sports magazines Viktor appeared in.  
“Your….?” Viktor tilted his head to the side. Phichit dropped his phone to his side, his eyes widening and some puzzling realization that was lost on Viktor.  
“Hey, Yuuuuuuuuuri!” He called out, turning around in a circle.  
“Over here. I really tried, but I had to go back.” Viktor looked over, before dropping his gaze a few feet. He felt the floor drop beneath him.  
There he was.

  
His perfect skater

  
In a wheelchair.

  
“I told you, canes and champagne don’t mix!” Phichit sung teasingly, and the boy in the wheelchair--- Yuri? Oh god, Yuri?—blushed.  
Phichit stood back before waving grandly toward Viktor and Christophe. “Viktor and Christophe came to the games today! Remember when I told you about Cup of China?”  
Whatever Phichit said next was lost on everyone but Christophe. The poor Japanese Yuuri looked ready to have a panic attack, eyes wide, cheeks red, hair shaking. The beautiful black was no longer slicked back like it had been on the ice. It was hard to match the man hiding behind his glasses to the work of art Viktor had seen on ice a few hours earlier.  
He was softer. More nervous.  
And in a wheelchair.

  
“Congratulations, Yuuri!” Viktor stuck out his hand, before squatting slightly to be on his level. Phichit frowned, and opened his mouth to say something, before realization dawned on his face.  
It was him. The posters upon posters, THE Viktor they had spent hours talking about. The inspiration of his best friend. The reason why they had met in Detroit. The reason why Yuuri still bothered skating, even when he lost his chance at qualifying for the main Olympic team.  
It was about to be a disaster. Yuuri was frozen, eyes as wide as they could be. Viktor had his charming smile, but probably would notice something was weird soon.

“Congratulations, Yuuri! Kanpai!” Phichit took the moment, grabbing two flutes of champagne from a surprised waiter, pushing one into Yuuris free hand. Viktor drew back, partially to avoid being splashed, partially due to Phichit invading the space between them.  
Yuuri, bewildered, opened and closed his mouth like a fish, before Phichit gracefully tipped his hand and glass up to it. Bless his best friend, obediently gulping down the entire glass. Phichit pretended to clink a glass against Viktor’s hand, standing between him and the beautiful man he had finally located. He cursed Phichit’s apparently close relationship with this man, knowing him well enough to give him an out. Japanese Yuri spun around and rolled away before he could gather another word. In an instant, he was across the room, his back to Viktor. His image, his beautiful face was still burned into the Russians memory. Although he had left as quickly as he had appeared, something seemed a little more empty now. Phichit;s easy smile faltered a minute, before he seemed to build a plan, stacking the foundation as each word tumbled out of his mouth.

“We’ve been so busy with press after Yuuri getting silver, that he still hasn’t eaten anything yet. I was thinking of checking out La Lune. Have you heard of it?”  
Go figure the king of social media would know the top rated restaurants in Sochi, even if he hadn’t made it into the finals to compete there. Christophe nodded, Viktor about to shake his head before he decided to drop it. Russia was a big place—even with his travels and years of skating under his belt, Viktor still had no idea. He went where the people were, and the world had not let him down yet.

  
Well.

  
“Great! You should join us! We have a table at nine.” Phichit flashed an award winning smile before slipping sideways and speed-walking across the room. Viktor could feel the smugness before his best friend could even say anything. “You’re welcome.” The blonde whispered into Viktor’s ears, gently running his hand under Viktor’s jawline.  
“I’ll send you the information for my shaving kit. No more rough edges.” Cristophe scolded “ You’ll rub his face raw.”  
“Whose face?” Viktor stuttered, but his friend only smiled.

* * *

  
“You can’t drink… or anything, really like that Yuuri,” Phichit said with some exasperation, but mainly warmth. He didn’t pull his friends hands away from his red face, but he did pull him a little bit further away from the closest champagne caterer.  
“He’s here—“  
“Oh yeah, I meant to text you, but my phone doesn’t keep texts when you open the camera—“  
“I can’t believe I did that,”  
“I can’t believe he squatted like you were a five year old.” Phichit said his carefree tone dipping a bit.  
“He was right there and I just stared like a creep!” His voice warbled, poor Yuuri was probably on the edge of crying again.  
“I don’t think he noticed.” Phichit sighed. He usually knew when to talk him down, but he was being honest. He had seen the Ice King of Russia enter the stadium. And seen him watching Yuuri.  
“That’s even worse…” His words completely dissolved into tears and Phichit’s shoulder slumped.  
“He’s coming to dinner, though.” He offered a cautious smile, the corners stretching when Yuuri dropped his hands in terror.  
“And you’re at least three glasses away from being okay with that.” Phichit reached out and grabbed another flute of champagne. The dishwashers must be having one hell of a night.  
“I can’t do it, Phichit. I already gave up, and now he’s here? After today? He finally comes to my level and my best is still mediocre…”  
“Silver is anything but mediocre.” Phichit puffed up defensively. “I didn’t pay my sister 2000 baht to feed my hamsters to see you give up!”  
Yuuri was finally cheering up. Or at least, drying up. He rubbed his face on his sleeve, slipping off his blue-rimmed glasses to wipe off a few stray tears on his coattail.  
“I’m also really hungry.” Phichit added softly. “La Lune?”  
“La Lune.” He said with a smile.


	3. The Kiss

 

The neon sign glowed blue into the cold night air. Viktor could see his breathe fog and drift up into the light. He had used Christophe as an excuse, telling himself that he needed to let his friend socialize for a little longer. Long enough for Viktor to get another drink, steel his nerve…and order a car to the restaurant. It wasn’t that far, but wasn’t about to trek through the packed snow and cold. He would appear warm, every hair in place. Perfect.

For Yuuri.

His own Yuri had left with Yakov earlier. The boy was too old for a curfew, but he had probably worked out some excuse to get out of it.

Probably blaming it on Viktor.

They hadn’t spoken since they watched this new Yuuri skate on the ice.

Cristophe pushed open the door, gently waving backwards, shooing Viktor inside. It was almost as dark as the outside, most of the lighting warm candlelight. The walls were dark wood, and the warmth was a welcome relief.  Even though lately Viktor preferred going out and feeling the sting of the cold. 

The cold immediately melted away at the sight of him.

He was smiling, his ears and nose still red from the cold. And perhaps the glasses of champagne he had gulped down less than an hour before.   When was the last time Viktor had seen a smile reach someones eyes? When had one of those smiles been directed at him? After 5 gold medals.. no, after 3, the smiles had become more forced on either end. There were only so many records you could break until you went from groundbreaker to someone to break down. His stomach filled with longing, heavy and burning. He had barely talked to this boy, but he wanted the smile to be for him. Not for someone who he had easy crushed in the semi-finals.

 

Where was this coming from?

Phichit was the reason why he was here. The Thai skater was a friend, not an enemy. He had to remember this. Said man raised a hand, greeting them. Yuuri turned, following Phichits gaze, his doe-like eyes widening. Viktor felt his pulse quicken. But Yuuri didn’t run. Perhaps it was the extra alcohol, or the fact that the seating was benches and kept him from moving quickly.

It didn’t matter.

Viktor easily slid on his smile, moving before he quickly overtook Chris.

“Sorry to make you wait.”  Viktor offered a sad nod toward Phichit, who wasn’t even looking at him. He was watching Yuuri, who stared as Viktor sat beside him, starry-eyed and agape.

He looked even more perfect up close. The way his eyebrows arched perfectly. His jaw line, how his inky black hair feathered around his ear.

But most of all, the grace and strength he held, while also looking like he could be easily crushed in a cold hand.

Viktor had been watching too many Harlequin romance movies.

“No worries, we just got here, right Yuuri?” Phichit barely contained his smirk, which was good, because everyone was watching Viktor and Yuuri.

“Right, Yuuri.”  Yuri echoed dreamily, still staring agape at Viktor. He grew pinker when the king of ice  laughed, radiating the flirt he was famous with the press for.

A waitress stopped by with a basket of warm buttery bread. Viktor watched as  Yuuri woozily doled out a soft roll to each of their plates before his own. He could feel the English he wanted to speak slipping through his fingers like a fine sand. The words fell faster the longer he watched the skater beside him close his eyes, his dark and thick eyelashes against his cheek as he sunk his teeth into the bread.

He had been watching way, way too many movies.

“Thank you for coming out. Yuuri’s a big fan. We didn’t know you were coming out for the Paralympic games.” Phichit interjected after a period of quiet  that Viktor had felt perfectly fine with.

“I didn’t know either. It was a last minute decision. But I’m glad I came.”

Apparently it hadn’t been last minute, but Yakov knew better than to ask (or tell) Viktor anything on the eve of a competition.

“I am too.”  Yuuri said softly, rolling the remainder of the bread between his fingers. “I wish I had been able to do better. I was distracted.”

Distracting, more like it. Viktor tried to keep his thoughts to  holier territory.

“I think it was beautiful.” Viktor murmured, and he hit the target. Yuuri jolted like an arrow had hit his heart, the remaining bread between his fingers squished into a pancake as red overtook the sweet mans face.

“Not as much as you. Y—y-your….oh…” Yuuri stammered, trailing off. It was Viktors turn to be stabbed in the heart. But he had no idea if it was Cupid’s arrow or just the feeling of no longer numbing himself to his heart.

Phichit  dropped the menu from his hands onto the table to hide his own snicker.  Yuuri looked up from his lap, back to his best friend. “Oh… order.” Words were coming hard to him, too.

“I already told the waitress to give us the special.” Pichit smiled. “I didn’t want a repeat of what happened on Monday!” The easy smile came back to Yuuri’s face, and the two friends laughed with such ease that Viktor felt lonely. Chris tilted his head to the side, showing enough curiosity to continue the conversation.

“Oh!  Me and Yuuri went out for lunch, but we didn’t charge our phones!  They died right as we got there, and we couldn’t use any of our apps !  We spent an hour trying to  figure out what to eat before Yuuri remembered how to  say breakfast!”

“I don’t know what we ate, but it was really  good.” Yuuri murmured, his accent thicker than it had been several drinks ago.

“So since then, we decided to leave the menu to the chef.” Phichit said confidently. Yuuri yawned adorably. The six hour time difference wasn’t as bad as the time difference between home and Detroit… But the warm bread, and the warmth sat beside him (and maybe the champagne) was making it harder to adjust. Even with sleeping until the hour before practice.

The technique was flawless. Viktor had the best food he had in a while, warm meat on fresh greens. The wine pairing was phenomenal. He felt sated enough to conduct the usual interview: how was Sochi, how did it feel to have gold again.

“What’s next?” Phichit asked, and Viktor knew he expected “Worlds” or some other simple answer.

But nothing came.

Just as it had since Viktor had bottled up the last few drops left in his desiccated soul into  Stammi Vicino.

What was next?

“Yuutopia.” Yuuri murmured sleepily, his head heavy on his hand. He looked ready to fall asleep at the table, but he kept his eyes dutifully on whoever was talking.

“Yuutopia?” Viktor repeated. He flipped through the dictionary in his head, but came up short. It wasn’t English.

“My parents hot springs. I haven’t been home since Obon. “ Yuuri said  in the same sleepy tone.

Viktor couldn’t bear it. He scooted closer, enough that their thights touched on the dark wooden bench. He didn’t notice.

“You should visit. Japanese hot springs are the best.” He said it so dreamily, that Viktor immediately considered pulling out his phone and checking ticket prices.

“You’ll get to see Vicchan again, too.” Pichit said, moving the remaining food around on his plate. Figuring out which filter that would best show off this meal would have to wait.

“Vicchan…” Yuuri cooed softly, the starry-eyed doe look returning to his face. Viktor frowned. He had heard it before, but it was before the translator had arrived to assist his interview with _Skate Japan_  and _Shoujo Shuukan._

“Mari-nee-chan sent me this picture.” Yuuri said with the same soft coo, pulling out his own phone and unlocking it.  He went into his library, mostly selfies of Yuuri and Phichit, as well as some of the other skaters Viktor had seen earlier that day. He watched as the Yuuri tapped, pulling up a photo of a miniature Makkachin, dressed up in a weird set of jeans-for-dogs and a black vneck tee. It looked more couture than the clothing Viktor had in his own closet, which would definitely not fit Makkachin.

“He’s adorable.” Viktor cooed, and Yuuri immediately scrolled through a long row of pictures, the dog taking up most of his camera roll.

“I miss him. He is the cutest thing in the world.” Yuuri said, staring at the phone with heavy eyelids and a soft smile.

“Vicchan, right?”

“Mhmm. I named him after my favorite skater.” He scrolled to a picture of the dog in a bee costume.

Viktor nearly spit.

“Favorite skater?”

“Viktor Nikiforov.” Yuuri said. Viktor noticed that Yuuri had slumped over, and his arm and side were now against his own. Viktor glanced up to see Chris’ hand pressed to his mouth, stifling laughter that threatened to bubble out.

This was actually going pretty well.

“I happen to have the same name.” Viktor said. What else could he say?

“’n look exack-a-ly like him.” Yuuri said, turning his beautiful smile up to him.

Viktor wanted to see this smile more.

“What if your favorite skater showed up to your hot springs?”

“That’da only happen in dreams.” Yuuri’s tone alluded that he was ridiculous, that it was a joke that it would ever happen. But… was it really that impossible?

Was he really that untouchable? Here he was, draped over him, their thighs against each other, a thousand smiles and looks and accidentally-on-purpose touches of the hand… and Viktor Nikiforov was still strictly in the dream land?

Was this the only thing that would be a surprise?

The bill came, and Viktor took it and slid his card under the clip. It would be the best rubles he had ever spent. (Except for Makkachin’s adoption fee.)

“We should get going, there are more events tomorrow…” Phichit said, watching Yuuri fighting to keep his eyes open, his cheek against Viktors arm. Chris played the traitor, standing up first, forcing Viktor to use his time wisely. He pulled away, but Yuuri sunk closer to him.

“Oh great… We left the chair at the hotel…” Phichit said, his perfectly laid plans fraying at the edges.

“The wheelchair?” He had forgotten about it. The fact that this boy had something about him that kept him from competing in the main Olympics.

“How did he…?” The words left Viktor’s lips before he meant them too. He moved carefully, extracting himself from Yuuri’s weight until we has able to get his feet underneath him.

“He walked in, but if he can’t sit, he can’t walk, and if you’re not careful you could hurt him.” Phichit worried his bottom lip.  He and his best friend were close to the same height, so a few tipsy nights hadn’t been much of a problem. But that had been in Detroit in the summer, not Sochi in the middle of winter.

The problem solved itself, Viktor sliding his arms around   Yuuri’s back and under his knees. Where he expected hard muscle with the soft give of flesh, he was pinched with hard plastic. Though the rest of him drooped, his feet remained straight, his slacks riding up to a skeleton of titanium ankles.

Oh.

“Here,” Phichit said, stepping around the table and grabbing the bottom of the dress shoes, unceremoniously pulling them

And the rest of Yuuri’s leg

Off.

The pant legs below Yuri’s knees deflated, but Viktor no longer had to worry about kicking other restaurant patrons in the head.

“That will make it easier to fit in the car.” Phichit said, tucking the legs under his arm. He obviously knew what was going on and had no issue whatsoever. Christopher knew too. Or he was just cool and didn’t feel like the worlds eyes were upon them.

* * *

 

God smiled upon them, and they happened to stay at the same hotel near the Olympic Oval. Phichit called a car home, the only one smart enough to keep a battery reserve on his smart phone. Viktor, the tallest, was tasked the keeper of Yuuri. In the lobby, Phichit dug out and set the sleeping man’s wallet into his lap, as Viktor held him like a bride over the threshold.

“Thanks. I owe you.” Phichit said, before following Chris up to the fifth floor. Viktor rode alone in the elevator… well, with Yuuri, late enough that the halls were quiet. There was only the hum of the elevator pulling upward, and the soft, even breathing of the silver medalist nestled against his chest.

He somehow managed to unlock the door, thanking all the corporations in Russia that it was a touch-card and not a key. He jostled Yuuri slightly, searching for a light switch on the wall. His arms were tiring, even during the break in the car. Why on earth was he up so high? All the accessible rooms were usually at the bottom floors in order to save costs on ordering evacuation equipment. That was if this hotel was even accessible. It never occurred to him before.

It was a small, single room; the only thing touched in the room was the bed. The expensive water laid untouched, even the complimentary pillow mint was uneaten. Viktor carefully set Yuri on the bed, in the middle of the nest of blankets. He paused, before reaching out to loosen this strange, perfect man’s tie. His eyelids fluttered open, and he stared up at Viktor.

His very core tugged him downward, harder than gravity. He wanted those eyes locked on him, to see what they did when given more pleasure than just a good meal and drink.

But he had just carried him, this boy drunk enough to spill his heart but not tie his idols name to the body beside him. He could not tarnish this image by taking what he could not get a clear answer to.

So instead he leaned down, kissing his forehead sweetly.

“Spokushki, Yuuri.”


	4. LINE

LINE: pichitchuu 09:28 am: I got your leggies

icekatsuki1129: 11:47 am : ???????

pichitchuu 11:49 am: good morning sunshine!

Icekatsuki1129 11:49 am:  leggies???

pichitchuu 11:49 am: I got your legs

Icekatsuki1129 11:49 am:   oh no what did I do

pichitchuu 11:50 am: do you feel like you did something?

Icekatsuki1129 11:50 am:   well I usually don’t lose my legs

phichitchuu 11:51 am: thousand dollar leggies

Icekatsuki1129 11:51 am:    what is leggies

phichitchuu 11:51 am: legs

Icekatsuki1129 11:52 am:   I know! but why?

phichitchuu  11:52 am: we left your wheelchair because the site said there was stairs

Icekatsuki1129 11:52 am:  ok, how did my leggies come off??

phichitchuu  11:52 am: leggies!!!!!!!

Icekatsuki1129 11:53 am:  Phichit!!!!!!!!

phichitchuu  11:53 am:  get out of bed and meet me in lobby in 10

 

“So it wasn’t a dream…” Yuuri’s mouth wobbled into a nervous line as he poked at the  over-easy eggs on his plate.

“That is kind of a boring dream.” Phichit said, his own feet resting on the now-extra chair at the table in the hotels restaurant. “Just getting carried down stairs?”

The strangled noise that escaped from Yuuri suggested that it definitely was not a boring dream.

“It was more than that.” Phichit’s  thick eyebrows shot up into his hair. Yuuri’s ears were bright red, and he stared down at his  plate.

“A lot more…?” Phichit waggled his eyebrows suggestively, but subtly enough that no one else would tune in. The redness spread from his ears to his cheeks.

“That part was probably a dream.” He murmured, his voice tinged with sadness. “Did I do anything else embarrassing?”

“I didn’t say you did anything embarrassing!” Pichit stabbed his salad rather violently

“I got drunk in front of the man I’ve idolized since I was a child and all I could talk about was my dog in the pants my mom got him.”

“I think he was honored.”

“Honored? Oh god, did I tell him why Vicchan---“

His head hit the table and his friend tried to hold back a smile and keep serious.

“He was happy. He insisted on carrying you back to your room and making sure you were okay…”

“I’m sure pulling off my legs didn’t help.” Yuuri said darkly

“Hey! I only did that after he picked you up.  I saved you from having to bring it up later.”

“Later?”

“I think he has the doku  for you.”

“He what?”

“You know. The doku-doku!”

“Poison…?” Yuuri looked up and narrowed his eyes at his best friend.

“His heart!” Pichit patted his own chest quickly. Yuuri flushed again.

“Oh.. doki-doki. You can’t have them, you do them…” He trailed off.

“I learned it in Detroit,” Phichit shrugged “Anyway, it isn’t Japanese lesson time. Its time that you learned that Viktor Nikiforov has the hots for you.”

“No way.” Yuuri said with enough conviction that it was saddening. “He felt sorry for me.”

“His eyes didn’t feel sorry for you.” Phichit waggled his eyebrows again. “And I’m not surprised. Everyone loves you. We both know why Kasleveich won—“

“Nows not the time for a pep talk, Pichit-kun.” Yuuri interrupted . “I just want to be with my friend. Silver is great. It is, really. I didn’t really expect it..”

The mood darkened a little.

“I don’t see why not.” Phichit said, setting down his fork. “You were on your way to being on the podium with Viktor, Celestino said so—“

“I _was_ on my way. That was a long time ago.   And it’s never going to happen.” Yuuri couldn’t look up from his own plate, his shoulders drooping. “That part of my life is over. But  it’s  good that I’m still alive. Just with a different dream.”

“That doesn’t mean you should just settle—“

“It’s not settling. It’s just what I am.” He tried to blink back the tears. “I don’t want pity, Phichit, okay? Not from you. Not from my mom or Celestino or Viktor Nikiforov.”

 

* * *

 

 

“Then we’ll just have to leave him.” Viktor snapped. He immediately regretted it, but he didn’t have time before Yakov fired back.

“Leave him?! In the middle of Sochi? !He’s a child, Viktor. Don’t act like one too. Go and talk to him and figure it out. I will deal with your absence!” Yakov laid down the law, pushing the hotel key into Viktor’s hand before abandoning him in front of the hotel room. Viktor had to hold back a sneer.

The one time he was willing to go to a medaling ceremony that had nothing to do with him, and he had to deal with a tantrum.

“Yuratchka…” Viktor sing-sang, easily slipping back on the media smile as he slid the card through the door and pushed the door open. “It’s time to go, we don’t want to make Yakov lose any more hair worrying….” The room looked empty, before he saw the light spill out from the crack under the bathroom door. He pushed it, only to have it bounce back against a foot. The handle had already been broken, no doubtedly by Yakov, but that wasn’t his problem.

“Fuck off, old man.” The boy growled from inside the bathroom. “The last person I want to see is you.”

“But Yura—“

“Enough with the baby talk. Leave.” The teenager snarled.

“Yuri, you need to use your words. Yakov is going crazy and the events started twenty minutes ago.” Viktor snapped, trying to keep his tone even.

“Why don’t you go then? You always do what you want on your own schedule.” The edge was still there, but at least he had stopped telling him to leave.

“Yuri, this isn’t my schedule---“

“Yesterday sure was.”

“I was at the banquet just as you! Are you sour about Yakov keeping you from champagne?”

The door shook with an angry kick. “You never remember anything, you lazy selfish cow.”

That stung a little.

“Yura—Yuri,  I was doing our business, what was there to forget?”

“Tch. Why remind you? Go after your Japanese Yuuri.” Viktor’s eyes widened. How did he know?

“Yura, remind me please. I want to make you happy.” Viktor said softly. He would find out that mystery later.

“If you did, you would have remembered.” Yuri said flatly. Viktor wracked his brain.

“I was only gone for dinner…”

“You promised me dinner if I got gold.” Yuri snapped, and Viktor’s stomach fell.

Of course. That summer, when Yuri was hitting a rough spot with his parents and home situation and had nearly given up after flubbing a few jumps. He had promised him a dinner with him at any place he wanted, with his real skating family.

Which hadn’t happened last week.

Or this week.

Yakov had taken the information in stride, but Viktor hadn’t asked Yuri about the change of plans for dinner. He hadn’t really talked to him at all. Or made up for it.

“I’m sorry, Yuratchka… My brain is anywhere but in my head.” Viktor touched the door, used his softest, guiltiest voice. It wasn’t hard. The guilt weighed him down. He didn’t mind leaving Yakov alone for a night. He had years with the man, and he knew Viktor well enough that if there was an issue, it was because of his sieve-like memory, and not malice. But Yuri… Yuri was still in the junior league, and was dealing with his own teen angst to realize the nuances of other personalities. To him, Viktor was ignoring him, and only used him for a name of a man he went chasing after.

It was going to kill him, but there was only one way to fix this.

“We’ll go now. Anywhere you want. All day. Yakov said he would deal with our absences, and Sochi will fall for you, our gold prince.” Viktor really hoped this would work.

The man who skated through his dreams would have to wait.

The door creaked open, the boys hood pulled firmly over the boys head and into his eyes.

Viktor knew that trick well. It had been useful in years past.

“I say we go for dessert first.” He said, a soft hand on his protégé’s back, pushing him gently toward the door, and away from the day’s obligations.


	5. You

I think of you,

when I see the sun’s shimmer

Gleaming from the sea.

I think of you,

when the moon’s glimmer

Is reflected in the springs.

I see you,

when on the distant road

The dust rises,

In deep night,

when on the narrow bridge

The traveler trembles.

I hear you,

when with a dull roar

The wave surges.

In the quiet grove I often go to listen

When all is silent.

I am with you,

however far away you may be,

You are next to me!

The sun is setting,

soon the stars will shine upon me.

_Ich Denke Dien/I think of you, by Goethe_

 

The hotel room he had carried his Japanese Yuri to had been empty when he talked to the concierge later that night. Viktor had spent the first few weeks feeling hopeful, waiting for a direct message or comment on his page.

But nothing came, and soon winter melted into spring. Everything around him was new and blossoming, but  Viktor was wilting and dying. He felt as grey as his apartment, and soon enough he couldn’t bear to stay within it. It was long past time to start planning routines for the next grand prix, try out for the next Olympics—to be in the same country as the next Paralympics…

But it was too long.

He needed to get out. He needed to get away, but where? There was no escaping the tight chains of his own mind. He needed Makkachin with him, and somewhere warmer than Russia. She didn’t like wearing her boots, and spring in Russia just meant slush and salt.

His face came back again. He remembered a soft cheek against his arm, and something about hot springs.

Hot springs seemed nice. A hot bath, outside. It was a step above a bed or a four hour long bath trying to wash away the past and the present.

What was it…? Viktor opened the browser on his phone. He had never forgotten his last name. Provided it wasn’t the Ivanov of Japan, he should be able to do it.

‘Katsuki hot springs’

He felt his heart pump and jump out of his chest. A wet nose pressed into his hand, and Makka nuzzled him, staring at him with her soft dark eyes. She knew.

This was the most alive he had felt in months.


	6. Spring

“Yuu-chan, oide!” His mother called from downstairs.

Yuuri had to keep from sighing. He hated going up and down stairs, but he hadn’t had a choice.  Yutopia had been built like that before he was even in the picture.  He had moved home, after all, because Vicchan was having trouble with the stairs.  He just had to deal with the hand he was dealt.

He scooped Vicchan up, the toy poodle snuggling into his sweater and the crook of his arm, holding on. Foolishly, Yuuri had been worried about Vicchan’s reaction the most, back then.  They had changed the living room into his bedroom, at least until his legs healed. Before then,  Yuuri was the one who had went on daily runs with Vicchan, down the coast and onto the sandy beaches that surrounded his home-town.  They had kept at it, even when it felt like daggers were being pushed into  the center of calves, and the bruises spread.  They moved onto the sand, lessening the impact. He had trucked on, blaming it on his over-practicing  so he could make it the last step to the grand prix. 

By the time competition came, he didn’t have the energy to walk from the kiss and cry to the ice.

Chemotherapy lasted three weeks before the doctor had brought up The Best Option.

He didn’t think about his mother,  sister, or his dad. But how Vicchan was smart enough to notice that  if there wasn’t any feet to lick awake, then there wasn’t any for a walk.

But Vicchan joined  him in the new room the first night back from the hospital, curling up against his stomach and sticking out his soft pink tongue.  He fell asleep in his new spot. He waited through the days the pain was unbearable, and the swelling kept Yuuri  from walking at all, prosthesis or no.

It was only fair to be there for him  when his legs failed him.  His furry paws squeezing his arms was a comfort. The sway that took over his walk ever since the surgery was a hundred times worse when he navigated stairs.  Secure pockets had become a necessity ever since Yuuri had decided he was strong enough to return to his old room (and the old posters).

Usually Vicchan was content to stay in his arms until he could make it to a couch or some other  escapable raised surface. Today, however, Vicchan perked up, letting out a breathy bark in his arms.

“What are you talking about, Vicchan?” Yuri breathed, still catching his breath from his journey down the stairs. He nearly made it to the genkan before he fell backward, something brown and fuzzy  knocking him down his feet. He felt Vicchan scramble to get a grip on his chest, distracting him from the bruise he felt  forming on his back. Vicchan yipped, his tail wagging excited and whipping Yuri in the face.  The two dogs licked each others faces, before going to lick Yuuri’s, pushing his askew glasses further up off his feet.

“Kaa-san?” Yuuri called out for his mother, confused.

“Yuuri!” She gasped, shuffling out from the genkan.  “He’s here.” She fake-whispered,  hunching over and waving behind her. “Are you okay?” She shooed  Vicchan and the large poodle off of Yuuri, and he was able to sit up before he felt the third prescence.

He looked up, his jaw dropping open just as the suitcase dropped onto the wood floor of the entrance to  Yutopia.

“Hansamu, ne?” She whispered, and Yuuri turned red. Not because his mother and her loose grasp on what words could maybe leap the language barrier… But because it was him.

“Yuuri!” He smiled wide, and his heart fluttered at the heart-shaped brightness in the room. “I remembered  your offer! Japan is beautiful~!”

He felt like he was having a heart attack. What offer?  His mother reached out, offering a hand as he scrambled to his feet. Had he showered last night? Did he sweep? He didn’t remember anything other than skyping with Phichit and watching some stupid videos on youtube. Now he cursed his past self for not looking out for  future Yuuri.

“Ohh, uh, W-welcome!” Yuuri stammered, staring at the perfect figure in front of him. The silver hair, the dark jeans and tan coat that fit him perfectly. He might as well had walked out of a  fashion magazine. Yuuri  shuffled past Viktor and his mother and dragged in the first of what looked like several suitcases further into  the room.

“ _Yuu-chan, he’s been on a long flight, why don’t you show him to the hot springs while we get him his room?”_  Hiroko leaned in close to her son, even though there was no way Viktor spoke Japanese, forget  Kyushu dialect.

“O-okay,” Yuuri  didn’t have the mind to switch  languages, staring  up at  the idol standing in his home. “You must be very tired. I can show you to the hot springs.” Yuuri pulled at the suitcase, but a gloved hand pressed against his. He tried to take the suitcase back, but instead of insisting, he could only look up. Deer in the headlights.

“Actually, Yuuri. I slept the whole way over. I was hoping to see you skate.” Viktor said with that same bright smile.

His heart skipped a beat.

He looked toward his mother, who only gave a thumbs up.

His eyes darted back to the tall Russian in front of him. “O-okay! Sure! Let’s go!” He chattered, laughing nervously. Vicchan danced excitedly, ready for a walk, before Makkachin nuzzled back attention from her new, small friend.

“I-uh, don’t have a new routine or anything, I usually ask Celestino—“

“No worries.  I want to see your home rink.” The smile was back again, and for some reason,  Yuuri felt at ease.

He hiked  back up the stairs, grabbing his cellphone pack with his gloves,  socks and specialized socks.

He paused, stopping and sliding his thumb across his screen. 

Best to give Yuko some warning.

He tapped out a quick text to her, before he paused and opened LINE.

土曜日

phichitchuu  12:32 am: sleep tight! see you on skype

今日

Icekatsuki1129 12:02 am:  hes here

“What’s with the guy downstairs?” Yuuri jolted, nearly dropping his phone. Mari had mastered the silent approach.  Even growing up with her, he still couldn’t get used to it.

“I might’ve accidentally drunkenly invited him when I was in Sochi…” Yuuri laughed nervously.

“What else did you invite him to?”

“N—nothing, God, Nee-chan!”

“What? You know how freaky you can get. You still haven’t thanked me for saving you when—“

“Thank you! Please never talk about it ever again!” His voice nearly broke.

“I had a point though. He has his dog here.”

“S-so?” Yuuri had to hurry.  He was waiting downstairs, and somehow, this wasn’t a dream.

“You know how hard it is to import a dog into Japan? It takes weeks for quarantine. Weird for him to come here if he’s moving to Japan.”

Yuuri’s ears burned bright red, but Mari was cool as ever. As if she was discussing the weather forecast.

“Anyway. Something to think about. “ She waggled her fingers before sidestepping Yuuri  to walk back to her bedroom.

Yuuri would explode if he thought about it anymore. He ran down the stairs as fast as he could, nearly falling over his own feet and colliding with the tall figure standing in the main room.

“A-are you sure you still want to go to the rink?” Yuuri tried to pick up the words, watching the silver-haired idol stare curiously at the scroll. Yuuri really hoped his mom wouldn’t bring up that Yuuri had painted it in middle school. It was embarrassing enough when the regular customers (who knew better) noticed it.

“Of course. What does it say?” He pointed to the scroll. Thank god he was asking now.

“Spring.”  Yuuri tried to say casually, slipping by and trying to edge toward the doorway.

“Beautiful.” Viktor glowed, touching his chin thoughtfully.

The vignette made Yuuri’s heart skip a beat.

“It’s not that good. I can show you better ones. How long are you staying?” Any other questions faded from his lip as Viktor turned to look at him. Did he flirt constantly, or was he just that beautiful naturally?

“Actually… I’m not sure.”

“Oh…” A silent moment stretched too far.

“Well, I’ll have to show you more of Hasetsu. Ice castle is just down the road.” Yuuri bowed his head, moving toward the genkan. He stopped, pulling out the bench that was now part of the room, sitting down and stretching to pull  on a pair of sneakers onto his prosthetic feet.

Viktor easily stepped back into his. He had, after all, been to Tokyo (and all over asia) before in his career

Viktor tried to watch without staring. Not just to see the movements, how Yuuri’s shirt rode up in the back as he curled over to put on his shoes. To see how he was flexible on the ice, but here he had a limit. And how, that strip of skin, that muscle with a little bit of softness.

Maybe Viktor did need a shower.

Since when had he been this desperate? What was it about this man, who he only knew from a simple dinner,  and a kiss?

Okay… it hadn’t been a kiss.

Viktor felt his lips curl as he played the memory  over again in his head for the thousandth time.

How he had pressed his lips to his forehead, and two arms had snaked around his shoulders.

How arms, that could easily do lifts on ice pulled him down, and  the skaters warm body had pressed against him.

 

How he had guilty, oh so guiltily, indulged, and snuggled until Yuuri had fallen back asleep.

How he had left, like a jet-lagged Cinderella, at 8 am and left Sleeping Beauty alone.

Now it was time for the hero to wake up and fall in love with the prince. That’s how happy endings worked, right?

Viktor didn’t know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for the kudos, reviews and faves. I haven't written in years, and fanfiction specifically for over ten years... It feels really good to write.
> 
> Oide--Japanese for 'come here', usually used by parents to kids. Hansamu=handsome  
> The kanji in LINE stand for 'saturday' and 'today', just to get a sense of time.  
> I majored in Japanese and lived in Hiroshima for a couple years. I want to try to incorporate some things I experienced without bringing people out of the story. I'm trying to have it make sense in context... Please let me know if I need to clarify anything!


	7. Vitya

“ _Yuuri-kun, what are you doing today?”_ Yuuri looked up from his breakfast, mid-chew of a mouthful of rice. He glanced toward Viktor, and almost went to pinch himself again.

It was real. It was happening, and yes, Viktor Nikiforov was in his kitchen with him. Eating breakfast with the family, in the green jinbei he seemed so enamored with. He was still taking pictures of the rice and miso, the skinned and sliced fruit and single boiled egg. Hiroko had started out buying bread, going from buying a French baguette relaxing to thick soft slices of _shokupan_ after Viktor’s third week. Now it was back to the usual once-a-week treat, during the busiest day when everyone was too tired for a full cooked meal. The bread was never going away, especially after Viktor’s sparkly-eyed reaction to the salt-shaker toast flavors and chocolate butter spread.

Never, in any of his dreams, did he imagine watching Viktor encounter things Yuuri  found so ordinary.

 _“Ah, I don’t know. Probably Ice Castle…”_  Viktor looked up from his own meal, recognizing the sole word in the ebb and flow of morning conversation in his family.

Back in April, his parents had gone to the bookstore and bought three English guidebooks. That was embarrassing enough, but that was before they realized there was more than one fence to jump. Viktor spoke English mainly at competitions, and Yuuri only knew a few phrases her and there in Russian. Viktor, despite spending several weeks in Fukuoka waiting for Makkachin to come out of quarantine, did not have much more than basic greetings.

Outside of Yuuri navigating the shortfalls with his five-year-honed English, conversation was still a mishmash of three languages. (Four if you counted his father attempts at funny English.

“ _I know its hot, but you should do something else. The sea festival starts tonight.”_  Hiroko moved, coming back with another glass of iced jasmine tea.  The middle of July, and even with the air conditioning going the glass was already sweating.

“ _We’ve already seen  all of Hasetsu_.” Yuuri looked embarrassed. He still didn’t have an answer why Viktor was here. He was sure it was past he time of a tourist visa by now… but beyond that he had no idea.

 _“But not all of Japanese culture! Imagine him in a yukata~!”_ Hiroko cooed, and Yuuri hid behind his bowl of rice.

 _“Mom got one on sale at Skylark the other day.”_ Mari murmured from behind her cellphone. She was glued to it lately, stuck on some light novel.

Oh great.

“Viktor?” Yuuri cleared his throat, and he immediately snapped to attention. His heart fluttered in his chest. It was crazy how easily he got what he had dreamed of for years. He skated for hours with Viktor. Even if it was a small rink, a few minutes from home… he almost had his dream.

“Yuuri?” Viktor cooed, smiling flirtingly back.

“There’s a festival tonight, and, well… My mom wants you to wear a yukata… like a kimono? But for summer.  There will be yatai…” Yuuri trailed off.

“There will be food, and games, and every night they  shoot fireworks off the seaweed floats.  Very Japanese.”  He continued, before realizing  and kicking himself for not giving him an option to say no… or yes.

The Russian prince smiled brightly. “Davai! Japanese festival!” He sang, and Hiroko clutched her hand to her chest and smiled just as brightly.

~

“Yuuri?”

Viktor tapped lightly on the door, but Makkachin shoved her nose through the crack of the ajar door, and pushed the rest of the way in, her tail wagging.

“Hey girl…” Yuuri cooed, before looking up and flushing, pulling the top towel blanket off of his bed over his legs. “Viktor?” He asked. He never got tired of saying that. Even though it often came off as making fun.

“Is it a bad time?” His silver brow furrowed, staring at the pile of blankets on Yuuri’s lap.

“Oh. No, I just..” Yuuri flushed. “Was changing…”

“Changing? I’ll give you privacy!” Viktor’s voice rose, and Yuuri turned tomato red. Viktor immediately kicked himself as soon as the words left his lips.

“My legs…” Yuuri added, his voice small.

“You only wear those, though.” Viktor walked the rest of the way into Yuuri’s room, pointing to the usual prosthetics, the ones Yuuri always wore to the rink.

“Well, yeah, but you wear socks, and sometimes you need to wear more if  your residual limb..”

“Resid….?” Viktor interrupted, lips pursed in confusion. Yuuri secretly wished he saw that expression more often.

“My legs… “ Yuuri couldn’t bear to look up, pushing off the blankets. He knew Viktor had seen them in some way, as he had woken up that morning in Sochi without them… But it was forever a thorn in his side.  He had Yuuko at the rink to distract Viktor when he had needed to change or adjust before. Somehow, it was the first time it came up. Or maybe it was the first time he was relaxed enough to automatically grant Viktor access, despite what he was doing.

His adams apple bobbed as he swallowed nervously. “Especially during the summer, your legs change.. with water, or not enough water… sometimes I need extra layers of fabric to keep the prosthetics on.” He picked at the first layer of knit  limb socks he had on over the plastic liner. He still felt naked, even with layers and a full set of clothing between them.

“And you know when and how to fix it?” Viktor sounded interested, the mattress sinking down as he sat down next to Yuuri. They both bounced as Makkachin jumped up, sitting on Viktor’s lap, but not without giving a wet kiss to Yuuri’s face.

“Mostly…” Yuuri said, after laughing, and working his fingers into Makkachin’s fur for a good scratch. He could hear Vicchan slowly pad his way in and plop into his own bed.

“Viktor?”

“Yuuri?” He said it with an easy smile.

“What did you come into say?” his heart started beating fast again. “The Cup of China is coming up, isn’t it?” He was starting to panic, that today was the day he decided to finally tell Yuuri his plan.

“It is,  and I wanted to know if one room was okay.”

“One room for who?”

“You and I. Makka will have to stay here, of course.”

“O-o-o-of course, but why me?” Yuuri stuttered. It was a stupid question. There had to be something up. The world record holder did not just move into a country that barely used English, nevermind Hasetsu for nothing….

“I don’t want to skate unless it’s with you.” He said it so easily, but to Yuuri, it was as if his entire world had gone out from under him. He looked up from Makkachin, and into Viktor’s iceberg  blue eyes.

“Don’t be ridiculous, I can’t—“

He froze, a warm finger pushed against his lips.

“I’ll find a way, Yuuri.  I came here as a coach to get on the same ice. I can get you into the Cup.” His easy smile betrayed the storm behind it, but it convinced Yuuri.

Big fat tears rolled down his cheeks before he could stop them. Viktor’s face turned from ease to concern.

“I  don’t understand.” Yuuri warbled through the tears, his teeth chattering.

“I thought that was your dream, Yuuri. To skate on the same ice.” Viktor looked nervous, sitting next to him. Makkachin tilted her head, before scooting over until her head rested in Yuuri’s lap, and her tail batted against Viktor’s thigh.

“It was, but who told you?” He would either kiss or kill Phichit. Or Mari. Probably Phichit.

“You did.” Viktor breathed, before laughing.  The laugh was caught between humorless disbelief and confusion. “In La Lune.”

Yuuri buried his face in his hands. “Oh God, I did do something…” He groaned, and Viktor laughed genuinely. Yuuri dropped his hands, staring at Viktor, wide-eyed and teary.

“You did. I wasn’t planning on coming to Japan… but something about you brought me here. And  kept me here. I thought it was stupid to leave St. Petersburg… Yakov still had no idea… But I’m  happy.” Viktor was just as nervous, his feet tapping lightly on the tatami floor.

“I… like having you here.” Yuuri sniffled. “I’m happy, too.”

It sounded  like such a stupid, middle school thing to say… But Viktor’s eyes brightened.  No words hung between them, but they didn’t need it. The fact that Viktor was here, and he came to be with him… That Viktor was with Yuuri, in his most insecure spot, and it was nothing… It was everything.

“ _Yuuri! Mari-chan is back with sandals for Vikkun!”_   Yuuri’s mother called up from downstairs, and the heat creeped back to Yuuri’s cheeks.

“Vikkun? Is that me?” Viktor tilted his head to the side. Vicchan was snoozing already, stretched out on his back, paws in the air.

“Yes… it’s a familiar name… Like Yuuri-kun..”    He murmured, embarrassed.

“Ah, Russian has it too.” Viktor brightened. Finally, another thing to build upon, solid ground beneath their feet.  “ In Russia, it would be _Vitya or Vitenka. I call my Yuri Yuratchka…”_

 _“_ Vitya…” Yuuri breathed. Viktor’s eyes widened. He wanted to hear it again and again, see it escape between those lips a thousand times. “Aa-I’m sorry…” He stuttered, waving his hands. “I’m sure its personal…”

“No. Please use it… I think its easier than Vikkun….” Viktor smiled. Mission accomplished.


	8. Festival

 

“Okay… Vitya…” Yuuri breathed. Viktor rolled Makkachin off his lap, sliding off the bed and into his knees. He picked up a sock from the bed, Yuuri’s eyes widening.

“Viktor—Vi-vitya?”  He didn’t need to look up to know that Yuuri was bright red and shaking slightly. He had worse nerves than a Chihuahua… and Viktor loved it.

“Let me help you. I want to.” He knew he was testing boundaries, sliding the sock over one of (what was left of) Yuuri’s leg. Though he was missing bone and flesh, he wasn’t  missing muscle.. Viktor froze as he felt an unexpected touch, a single finger pressing the the whorl part of his hair on the back of his head. He melted, dissolving  into Yuuri’s lap, going limp. He was going to play it up—be dramatic, try to get a smile from Yuuri--- without realizing exactly what he was doing.

No words made it out of Yuuri’s mouth, his cheeks bright and red.

“ _Douzo. Next time close the door.. you’re not a teenager anymore, Yuu-kun.”_ Mari sing-sang, and Yuri broke.

He collapsed back onto the bed, the bag from Skylark hanging on his doorknob. Viktor regrettably lifted his head, putting on his stage smile and singing a “Thank you!” Back to his crushes big sister.

“That was a little weird, wasn’t it… Yuuri?” Viktor looked back, Yuuri’s face hidden by his hands.  “No need to…” He trailed off, noticing with some heart-leaping satisfaction, that Yuuri had gone hard.

Which would explain why he was blushing more than Viktor thought humanly possible.

“Yuuri…” Viktor cooed, before the months together caught up with him. He stood up, taking the bag from the door and closing the door securely. Yuuri rolled over, hiding his face—and everything else—in his blankets. Makkachin’s tail thumped on the floor.

“Do you…?”

“I don’t know! I’ve never..!” He squeaked, his voice lightly muffled.

“Oh, no, Yuuri.” Viktor reached out and ran his fingers through his hair, like he had been longing to for months. “Do you… like me?”

There was no answer at first, only Yuuri’s fingers tightening into fists. He moved, curling and uncurling until he was sitting up, his hair mussy. “I always have…” He said quietly, unable to meet Viktor’s gaze.

Viktor smoothed back  Yuuri’s hair. His cheeks were so warm, and even at Viktor smiled, Yuuri could only stare wide eyed up at him.

“I have loved you since I saw you on the ice. And I love you more every day I spend here.”

It sounded a little heavy, but it didn’t really matter anymore.  He had spent months in Hasetsu, without being honest to himself or anyone else. It wasn’t about avoiding home and being alone anymore. It was about him and how he felt next to Yuuri.

Happy.

“We’re the same, then.” Yuuri shifted, feeling his legs fall asleep, and he fell into Viktor’s chest. Viktor held him up, and closer to him. Yuuri closed his eyes, enjoying it for a moment.

“We should get ready… the festival..” He murmured, slowly peeling himself away from Victor. He slid on another sock, before sliding his legs into the cup of his prosthetics. “I have to make sure you wear the yukata right…”

“Oh, yes… Yukata!” Viktor sang, trying to  banish any awkwardness before it had time to grow.

“Mmn. Only shorts, no shirt.” Viktor watched Yuuri walk across the room, with such ease, even with carbon fiber  calves.  He watched as he went to his closet, pulling out a navy blue kimono folded neatly, wrapped in a patterned silver obi belt.

“No shirt…” Viktor said softly, just as Yuuri started to pull his t-shirt over his head.

Viktor liked this part. He turned back to face Viktor, unfolding the robe and slipping it on. “First, um… heart to kimono.” He folded the right side under the left, tying it with a long cotton belt thinner than the silver.  “Then you make sure it fits..” He pulled until the bottom hem was even and the stomach was a little looser. He wrapped the belt and tucked a piece behind the faux knot, before pulling out the one meant for Viktor out of the bag.

“Mama…” Yuuri sighed, embarrassed. The colors matched, though Viktor’s was a grey stripe with a blue belt, and was meant for someone with a good 10 cm height more.

“I love it!” Viktor clapped his hands, already planning to forget every instruction he had just heart, just to have  Yuuri’s hands on him again.

~

“Look, Yuuri!” Viktor pointed like a small child at the sticks of stacked strawberries covered in a vibrant red hard candy. They had already stopped and got the overprices plastic masks that didn’t even fit their faces—Viktor had gone for Hello Kitty, and had picked Doraemon for Yuuri.

“It will be hard to eat.. I think you’ll like those…”  Yuuri tried to redirect him to the next stall over, nearly spilling over with small kasutera and smelling sweetly of vanilla cake. “Its shaped like hello kitty..” Yuuri followed Viktor as he sprung over, Yuuri handing the stall owner a 500 yen coin. While the paper bag was being filled with freshly cooked bite-sized cakes, Viktor was distracted again. “ooh, yuri, what is that?” He pointed to the next booth, and to the thin purple-osh sauce drizzled thing-on-a-stick.

“Oh, that’s squid..” He tried not to laugh at Viktor’s  face. “It’s good, I swear! Mari and I used to always share one when we were little.”

“Do those have fish in them too?” He pointed to the tall across the street that boasted breaded fish-shaped cakes, cooked much like the kasutera in front of them.

“Oh, no… usually red bean, or custard.. sometimes chocolate.” The face returned. “It’s sweet. My favorite.”

Viktor light up, and zig-zagged back to the booth, taking a little longer, but handing the booth owner the correct amount of money and communicating through guestures and a bright smile.

“Chocolate!” Viktor sang, holding the paper-wrapped taiyaki up to Yuuri’s mouth. He flushed, before taking a bite, nearly burning his tongue. But it was worth it. They finished it together, the bag of kasutera forgotten in Yuuri’s fist.

“The fireworks will start soon… you should see the rest of the festival..” He motioned down the rest of hondoori, and to the second half of the booths. They stopped at nearly every one, even though most of them were surrounded by mothers and small children. Yuuri easily hooked two matching water-balloon yoyos. Viktor, however, spent a crisp 2000 yen trying to scoop goldfish into the bowl with the tissue paper paddles.  Before he could pull another bill, the gruff man scooped up two fish into  a bowl and poured it into a plastic bag, holding up the handles to  Viktor.

“Oh?” He took the bag, peering curiously. “You get goldfish?” He stared, the water magnifying his face. Yuuri laughed, unable to hand it in.

“Yes, you do… We have a bowl at home.” He tried to put Viktor at ease,  leading him down the rest of the road. They left the row of carnival toys, into the local business booths, and another row of frozen fuit and flavor-your-own-ice slush booths. The end of the road had the stage, where usual local dance school students performed between the city taiko team.   This year, however, the backdrop was a familiar face, Viktor smiling with Yutopia’s banner behind him.

Yuuri came to a dead stop, feeling like a goldfish out of water himself.

“You should be on there too.” Viktor mused, apparently unaffected by the surprise tourism spread going on without his knowledge.

“I hope not… I don’t remember any photos.” Yuuri said, before turning around, taking Viktor’s hand when  he didn’t follow suit.  “Let’s find a spot for the fireworks.” He pulled him back through the crowd toward the beach, away from the yellow portable lights and into the darkness.

They ended up on a small strip of grass set back from the main beach. Families had come earlier, and set up with blankets and picnic baskets. Viktor couldn’t help but wonder if Yuuri had been one of the children running up to the edge of the water, before being chased back up by oncoming waves. Parents watched from blankets, wives leaning into fathers, beer bottles standing up in the sand. Surrounded by couples, there was a sudden spark of uncertainty. What were they, anyway?

He was snapped out of it by the first crack of pink fire in the sky. The crow ooed and a small child screamed. Viktor watched the show reflect in Yuuri’s glasses, the perfect audience member.

Viktor followed Yuuri’s gaze, before he felt a soft weight against his shoulder. Yuuri leaned into him, resting his cheek on Viktor’s arm.

There was nothing more beautiful.


	9. Fall

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all the faves and kudos!  
> I was at Sakura-con last weekend, and going back to work has been kicking my butt  
> I'm hoping to update more, probably closer to just weekends now

“Yuuri--- Gomen!” Viktor burst into the dining room, after leaping out of bed, nearly stepping on Makkachin and running down the stairs. Most of the family was gone, as it was nearing 11 o’clock, but breakfast was still laid out on the table. There was a sweet envelope from Hiroko, Yuuri’s mother, and a matching note on the fridge to direct him to the poached eggs hidden inside.

“Huh?” He looked around, and at the two plates still resting next to each other. Yuuri hadn’t eaten yet either.

“Good morning!” Hiroko poked her head in from the door that lead to the living room. “Yuuri…!” She gestured sleeping, her hands by her head like a pillow, before pointing upwards. Viktor looked up, realizing he hadn’t made as much of a gaffe as he thought. Yuuri was still sleeping upstairs. Suddenly the hours they could have been practicing being lost didn’t matter as much anymore.

“Yuuuuuurii!” Viktor cooed, pushing open the door and jumping onto Yuuri’s bed, lying next to him. Vicchan squeaked, but only wriggled from his spot against Yuuri’s belly to closer to his shoulder. Yuuri squirmed, pressing his face into the pillow and groaning. “Noooooo,” He croaked.

“Yuuuri~” Viktor sang, flopping his arm around Yuuri’s back and nuzzling his nose against the man’s warm cheek. “It’s almost eleven, sleeping beauty.”

“Wha?” He lifted his head, blinking at Viktor, before he jolted, scrambling to sit upright. Vicchan huffed and sighed as the blanket shifted underneath him.

 “The morning has escaped us.” He pushed the bangs out of Yuuri’s eyes tenderly as he blinked the sleep out of them.

“Oh no, I’m sorry—“

“Nothing to be sorry for my dear,” Viktor offered a smile.

“I’ve just been really tired lately; I didn’t want it to interfere...” He trailed off with a yawn. The smile faded slightly.

“Yuuri, if you need rest, you need to rest.  You can’t push yourself.”

“You skated the china Olympics with the flu.” Yuuri said dully, staring him dead in the eyes, with the cute little squint he got when he wasn’t wearing his glasses. At least Victor thought it was cute.

“Was I that obvious?” Viktor brought out the puppy pout, feigning near tears.

“You still won gold.” Yuuri said, reaching out blindly for his glasses on his bedside table. He patted the table twice before finding the glasses and unfolding the arms.

“But… I rested beforehand!” Viktor hadn’t, but there was no way of him knowing _that_ from the media publications. “And so should you!”

“I’m okay, really.” Yuuri rubbed at his eyes under his glasses. “I went to bed early, I don’t really need to sleep anymore.” Vicchan disagreed with this notion, readjusting and snuggling into the new pile of blankets between Yuuri and Viktor.

“Well, we have breakfast first. Then we can get coffee and Ice Castle.” Viktor nodded, agreeing with his own plan as it tumbled out of his mouth

“Mmm… sounds good.” He stretched before putting an arm on Viktor and pushing him gently. “You’re in the way.” He mumbled

“I’m on your legs? But you don’t have any---“Viktor choked. Way to go, Viktor.

Yuuri rolled his eyes. “You’re—in--- the--- way.” He pushed again, making Viktor sway, but not move anywhere. “You CAN get my legs for me.” He pointed to the prosthetics propped up against the nightstand

 

“Is this a place you went to often?” Viktor asked, staring at the white plaster and varnished wood roof and raw, natural décor of the coffee shop as they sat, hands wrapped around warm mugs.

“Oh, no… Marigold opened while I was in Detroit, and I went to high school closer to Fukuoka.” Yuuri sounded shy, talking into his mug. The store had an elaborate setup that looked like it belonged to an evil scientist instead of an espresso shop, and the whole place smelled dark and rich. Each menu was hand-written and drawn on homemade paper, with pictures of the menu pasted on like a scrap book. “Yuuko actually told me about it…” He moved to nervously twist the plastic wrapper of the oshibori hand towel between his hands.

“Even if it’s new, I like learning about places you like,” Viktor has been learning to notice when Yuuri was anxious, or cutting himself down. He usually lost eye contact, his smile faltered, and he fidgeted. Sometimes, Viktor could feel it, the fast rush of a pulse even though he was sitting beside him.

What would it be like at the Cup?

“I think I’ve shown you everything in Hasetsu...” Yuuri mumbled, rubbing his thumb against the handle of the mug.

“It still seems so new. I was expecting it to be colder by now. It is in St. Petersburg.”

It was October and the aircon was still blasting. Over the summer, it had been harder to practice, as more and more kids came in to the rink for reprieve from the smothering heat.

“Do you miss it?” Yuuri asked softly, and Viktor had to think a while to make sense of the question.

“What? St. Petersburg?” Yuuri looked up from his coffee, before nodding slightly.

“I….don’t. It’s nice waking up to someone else who does more than bark back.” He mused with a smile. That morning was a perfect example. Things have been waving way slower than he wished for, but now they were happening. He HAD been in Yuuri’s bed before, but this was the first time uninvited. (Sadly, before it was merely to watch videos on YouTube and nico nico).

“It is nice…” Yuuri’s cheek flushed slightly, and he looked down, his lips curling into a smile.

\---

“Yes! Next, Lutz!” Viktor clapped as Yuuri went through his routine for the cup. Even in his sweats, he was getting _Eros_. But that Eros had called out to Viktor from across the ice those many months ago. Even if the judges didn’t see it, his footwork would shine through. Viktor was sure of it.

“Vikkkkktooooor!” The doors to the rink slammed and rattled. Viktor whipped around immediately when he realized did not match the high sweetness of Yuuko or the chorus of her triplets.

“Yuri!” Viktor hissed, sliding to the edge of the rink and stepping off, steeling himself before the small blonde collided with him.  “Welcome to Hasetsu!” His voice wobbled as his stomach was hit in a repeated barrage.

“You asshole! Leaving Russia for almost a year and welcoming me to this backwater town like that!” It was so nice to hear the words and instantly understand them for once, even with the anger and bitterness behind them.

“I’ve missed you too~” Viktor closed his eyes and let Yuri go on until he wore himself out. Yuri stopped, looking up with surprise before remembering his anger.

“Yakov should fire you.”

“Yakov knows what I’m doing” This really wasn’t the time or place to talk about it, especially after a nice relaxed day and coffee with beautiful Yuri. “Does he know YOU are here?”

Yuri faltered for a second. They were more alike than Viktor hoped for. He really wasn’t the best role model, and yet, here he was, a god with someone kneeling at his altar.

“I’ll be back when Yuuri competes in the cup.” Viktor chirped, but this didn’t sooth the angry lines in Yuri’s face.

“I want to know what, exactly, is worth leaving your country behind for.” Yuri snarled. Yuuko had appeared behind the angry Russian child whirlwind.

She caught her breath before her face paled. “Yuuri!” She shrieked, her voice echoing and bouncing across the ice arena. Viktor turned, looking behind him, his stomach falling before he even registered what had happened.

Yuuri was collapsed onto the ice, a dark lump surrounded by blinding white ice.

Viktor didn’t notice exactly when he had left little Yuri and glided across the ice, it seemed like a split second before he had Yuuri off the ice and in his arms.

“ _Wait—you aren’t supposed to move someone who’s hit their head!”_ Yuuko called out, before panicking. That was way beyond her high school English. She paced, stepping from foot to foot before she dashed back to the counter and grabbed the first aid kid. She had no idea what could even help among the Band-Aids and athletic tape, but it was something to do.

Viktor felt like the world was dropping out from underneath him, even though his ankles screamed with pain and the cold ice bit painfully into him. He should have let him take a day—slept in even more. They should have gone on another tour of a game center and wasted another 2000 yen and not pushed him. Of course he would push through it, he never wanted to disappoint him, and now he had fallen on the ice and hadn’t bounced back. Now he was gone, and Viktor felt so selfish--- what had he missed?

“Vitya?” He groaned, his beautiful lips pouting and his dark eyebrows pressing together—thank God, thank all the Japanese spirits and Gods and Goddesses and any other higher power anyone thought important enough. “What?” His hands went up to his head, tentatively feeling. He winced, gritting his teeth.

Maybe Yuuri felt awful, but Viktor felt his stomach fly from his feet and up into his throat, his heart bursting. He leaned down and kissed the Yuuri that had gracefully returned to him

“ _Yuuri! Are you okay?”_ Yuuko had jogged across the ice, kneeling on the boys other side. He had gone limp in Victor’s arms again, but this time his cheeks flushed, and he his face in his hands. “I-I-I’m sorry.” He stuttered. Viktor tilted his head to the side, much like Makkachin. “What for?”

“I just got dizzy... I’m okay….” He went on to say the same thing in Japanese, Yukos shoulders relaxing by a fraction.

“Oh Yuuri, we should have stopped and gotten juice, the coffee must have—“ Viktor stared to worry, his words tumbling over each other before Yuuri waved his hands.

“No no no , I’m okay! Perfect! Paa-fee-ku-to!” He tried to sit up of his own accord, but couldn’t hide the pain that crumpled his expression.

Yuuko took Yuuri’s hand. Viktor bit back the tug that made him feel jealous, or angry at her. That she was touching his Yuuri, and the man that was in _his_ arms. His student, his Yuuri.

“Yuuko..!” Yuuri sighed, the tone rising and falling, as if he was scolding her. He let her do what she wanted, pulling his gloves off. She peered at his fingertips, turning the hand over and squeezing each part of the bone in each finger like she was trying to find the last bit of toothpaste in the tube. “ _I’m okay, I swear!”_  But Yuuko still frowned, pulling her cellphone out of the pocket of her sweatshirt

 _“I’m telling your mom.”_ Yuuko said firmly, pulling up her contact list

“ _Please don’t, I’m fine, I just didn’t have enough water this morning and we had a late start.”_  Yuuri tried to wave the problem away. “ _I’ll let her know when we’re done; we don’t need to bother her.”_

 _“I promised, and I don’t break my promises.”_  Yuuko frowned, before putting the smartphone to her ear and scooting just out of reach of Yuuri

“What is she saying?” Viktor squeaked. His panic had reached his throat. He was okay when the conversation went on around him at dinner or the locals whispered behind his back… Yuuri always gave him the gist of it… and it had never been this serious.

It was almost as if Yuuri had forgotten he was here. Or that he just didn’t want to share whatever Yuuko was so concerned about.

The sharp needle numb settled into Viktor’s legs as the blood drained out of them and they fell asleep. He shifted his legs in front of him, cradling Yuuri in his arms.

“Nothing. I’m fine, Viktor. I’m sorry for worrying you.” This wasn’t enough for Viktor, not enough details, no translation… but when Yuuri looked up at him, with those soft, wide brown eyes… he had to forgive him.

Or at least, reassure him.

“I’m sorry for pushing you. If you weren’t feeling well, we should have taken a break.” Viktor’s eyes were downcast. “I came here wanting to coach you into the international skating league, but I’m a terrible coach.”

It wasn’t just Yuuri’s spill onto the ice. He was being selfish with Yuuri’s choreography. He made it what he wanted to see—the judges came secondary. But Yuuri had put his whole trust in him, and had done everything Viktor had asked of him. Even though he had never agreed to this, or competing against him.

What had he done?

 

Cold fingers touched his cheek. Yuuri cupped the side of Viktor’s face. “You’re not pushing me anywhere. I’ve wanted to skate on the same ice as you since your first Gold. I should have payed attention to my limits better.”

“We’ll get you there.” Viktor smiled, trying to reflect the small bit of warmth Yuuri had given him.

“Yes. And maybe you can… not kiss me when I’m half passed out.” He looked away from Viktor, shyly hiding a mischievous smile.

 

The dark green van with _Yuutopia Katsuki_ painted across the side was parked in front of the rink when they finally left the rink, Yuuri nursing a forced juice-box reluctantly. He stopped short, and the passenger door swung open. Mama Katsuki hopped out, running up and grabbing Yuuri’s face in both of her hands. Viktor was lost in the conversation again, but he could tell from her expression that she was worried.

Yuuri sputtered.

“Yuuri? What’s wrong?” Viktor put a hand on his shoulder, trying to ground him. His mother waved toward the car, and Viktor latched onto the one word that seemed to be popping up again and again.

“Yuuri, tell me. What is bi-yo-een?” Viktor squeezed his bicep when Yuuri didn’t answer right away.

“Hospital.”


	10. Hospital

“Hospital? Why hospital? You said you felt better…” Viktor couldn’t even muster the energy to whine. He just felt tight. His throat, his chest. It hurt, and he had no idea if it was because of little Yuri, or because of what was happening to his Yuuri.

 _“What’s going on with your boyfriend.”_  Yuri had been quiet until then, and had given them space… but not forgiveness apparently.

“ _I don’t know. They’re making him go to the hospital.”_ Viktor didn’t have time to worry about his relationship with his protégé right now… outside of finding a place to put him.

“My dad will drop you off at home before we go to the hospital.” Yuuri left his conversation with his mother, guilt weighing heavily on his shoulders. “It’s a long drive to Fukuoka.”

“Fukuoka?!” Viktor shrunk back, when he realized he had been surprised and loud enough that everyone turned to look back at him. Even Yuri, who was being shooed into the back row of the van. “Why so far? What about the clinic you brought me to when I got a cold?”

Yuuri stared at his feet.

Somehow, this felt more like than just his nerves.

It was easy to forget that Yuuri was a little different. Why he had been at the special Olympics and not the main events….

“ My doctor is based in Fukuoka. Clinics are general doctors.” He licked his dry lips. “My mom is worried that the cancer I had when I was in the junior league is coming back.”

“Cancer? I thought you were in a car accident or something,” Viktor lost his tact as he felt the pit of his stomach turn icy. Cancer. Cancer? Yuuri had run with him every morning, done every skate Viktor had asked him to try. There was no way Yuuri was sick.

“No.” Yuuri still couldn’t look up at him, his dark hair in his eyes. “I ignored what was going on, thinking it was part of skating. I decided it was better to lose my feet and skate with prosthetics than try and fix my feet.” His shoulders were shaking, and his cheeks were wet.

Viktor pulled him close, wrapping his arms around Yuuri, tucking his head under his chin. “I’m glad you kept skating.”

“There’s nothing else I’m good at, anyway.” Yuuri’s voice wobbled, weak and losing its strength.

“You were good enough to bring me to Japan.” Viktor moved with Yuuri as his mother came to shoo him into the van. Yuuri slouched into him once they were in the van, Yuuko talking with Mama Katsuki just outside the car.

“I’m sure it’s nothing.” Viktor said, pushing back his long bangs. He paused, pulling back his hand and staring at his own fingers.

They were slick and wet with tears.

 

“But I want to go to Fukuoka with you.”

 

\---

Viktor didn’t like hospitals in Russia, and he didn’t like Japanese hospitals either. There were no cute mascots or vending machines. The nurses wore uniforms that made them look like they had come out of a cartoon, and they were barely around. Hiroko ended up stepping out a few hours after they arrived, coming back with several bags from the Seven-eleven down the street.

Even though Viktor had been amazed at the freshness and variety from convenience stores, somehow today the katsu curry tasted bland and dry in his mouth. Yuuri had even less of an appetite, only poking at the caramel  custard pudding his mother had gotten for dessert.

It wasn;t that he was nauseous. He had done many sports physicals before, and submitted blood samples to ensure he wasn’t doping. But somehow, watching the four vials of blood being drawn from Yuuri’s arm had shaken him. The way Yuuri hadn’t even blinked when the needle poked him, or when they put a line to draw the blood from. His hand naturally moved to accommodate the oxygen reader, and he didn’t tense when the IV line was put in.

He was quiet.

Mari had facetimed earlier, with Vicchan and Makkachin taking up the screen, but Yuuri was mostly quiet.

Rather than push him, Viktor spent most of his time staring at the chart at the end of the bed and fiddling with his translator app. He had gotten better at isolating the sounds in conversation, and had a ongoing list of words to try out and add to his study list.

Nikiforov-v 18:05  he still isn’t talking

Giacristophe 18:06   you can say something

Nikiforov-v 18:06  then he will just feel bad that he isn’t translating

Giacristophe 18:06    I don’t think he worrys about you right now

Nikiforov-v 18:07   he always does.  That’s why we’re here

Giacristophe 18:07   its  not your fault

Nikiforov-v 18:08   I want to do something

Giacristophe 18:08   you said anemi?

Nikiforov-v 18:08   anemia

Giacristophe 18:08   give  him the blood

Giacristophe 18:42  viktor?

Giacristophe 19:01  don’t go crazy

 

He looked adorably sleepy when Viktor jumped up and leaned on the end of Yuuri’s hospital bed. “Yuuri! What blood type are you?”

“Wha? Uh, A-type….why?” This had come out of the blue. He knew Viktor wasn’t anywhere near fluent enough to hear what his doctors had said.  There was a shortage on A type donations due to the injuries from a 5.7 earthquake further notice. But with bed rest and  fluids, Yuuri would be fine until the tests came back.

Viktor pumped his fist in the air. “So am I.”

“Oh… that makes sense.” He narrowed his eyes, staring at Viktor.

“What does that mean?” Viktor shrunk back, looking offended, even though he had no idea how.

“Perfectionist.”

“Wouldn’t that be the same for you?” Viktor made a face, secretly glad  that Yuuri was finally talking back.

“I don’t really pay attention to that kind of stuff.” He shrugged, moving the shovel-like mini spoon in his pudding cup. “Why?”

“I can donate to you!”

Yuuri immediately flushed. “No! No, its okay.” Maybe Viktor was more fluent than he gave him credit for.

“No. Please. I want to.”

Yuuri slid down his pile of pillows, refreshingly pink. “Don’t you think… that’s a little… intimate?” he murmured, shrinking under his blanket.

Viktor finally felt like smiling. “I know your blood rushes for me, I should only return the favor!” He chirped with his sweet heart-shaped smile. Yuuri disappeared under the blankets, squawking with embarrassment. Hiroko looked up from her paperback, peering over the edge curiously.

Yuuri immediately sat up, Viktor automatically going up to fix and fluff the pillows behind Yuuri’s back.

“ _Mama, Viktor wants to donate blood. He’s type A.”_

_“Oh! Just that?”_

Yuuri felt like disappearing under the blankets forever

“ _Vicchan is so sweet. I’ll tell Yamamoto-sensei when she comes.”_

It was more anxiety inducing to be in the hospital without Yuuri than it was sitting uselessly in his room. Even if he was paying attention, he wouldn’t have been able to understand anything the nurses said. They ended up bringing the questionnaire back to Yuuri’s room, and went back to basic English. “Arm” and if he didn’t position it right, they would take it and turn it over.    “Pinch” and he knew to look away until they covered the needle with a piece of fabric tape. When staring at the wall wore out its welcome, he sneaked a peak at the tube coming out of his arm.

He had expected it to be more vibrant, more red, more life-inducing. But it looked more purple than anything, and looking at the tube made his stomach lurch. It was part of his body, and yet it wasn’t.

But it was for Yuuri.

By the time Viktor had realized he wasn’t going anywhere until finishing the juice box with a smiling orange on it, Yuuri had already fallen asleep.

 

Viktor had offered to use his credit card at the hotel chain next to the hospital, but they had declined. They stopped by 7-11, Yuuri’s father stopping to get a coffee milk, and handing a bottle of Calpis soda and a small brown glass bottle.

“Energy!” He mimed flexing his muscles, before tapping the brown glass bottle. Viktor nodded, grateful for their hospitality and even thinking of him while they left behind their only son in the hospital room. The drink tasted awful, too herbal and grass like, but he downed it all between sips of his favorite yogurt drink. They got back to Yuutopia past midnight, the resort already dark and asleep.  He stopped on his way to his temporary room, the door to Yuuri’s room still open. Makkachin and Vicchan were both on his head, curled around each other in a nest of blankets. As if they knew.

Makkachin lifted her head, staring at him through the twilight.

He joined them for the night.


	11. Answer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FYI- Canonically, Yuuri is blood type A. Apparently, Viktor's blood type is a mystery. Any profile has had his blood type as a ?  
> This is interesting because Japan has a sort of astrology based around blood type. It is used for personality types, and compatibility with other people.  
> from issendai.com: People with blood type A have a deep-rooted strength that helps them stay calm in a crisis when everyone else is panicking. However, they tend to avoid confrontation, and feel very uncomfortable around people. A types are shy and sometimes withdrawn. They seek harmony and are very polite, but all the same feel that they never really fit in with others. A types are very responsible. If there is a job to be done, they prefer to take care of it themselves. These people crave success and are perfectionists. They are also very creative, and the most artistic of all the blood types, most likely because of their sensitivity.
> 
> Shokupan is the most common type of Japanese bread, next to baguettes and all the buns and pastry kinds. It is a very sweet white bread that comes very square and thick-cut. It kind of sucks for savory sandwiches, but makes amazing breakfast toast  
> http://www.dreamsofdashi.com/shokupan/

Viktor nearly jumped out of his skin the next morning. He had woken up in Yuuri’s bed, the stress and dread settling in as he woke up and remembered what had happened the night before. He went straight downstairs, Makkachin following him, her wet nose bumping the back of his legs as he walked.  
Yuri was downstairs, in Yuuri’s usual spot. Viktor’s stomach lurched—he had forgotten the surprise guest, and he had refused to stay back at Yuutopia when they had stopped by before the trip to Fukuoka.  
Any damage from before was probably worse, by now.  
Thank God for Mariko--- she sat across from Yurio, her place empty but for a cup of coffee. There was a stack of uno cards and the TV remote—they hadn’t been back for dinner at all last night, after all.  
“Good morning.” Mariko said idly as she flipped through an old looking magazine, before sliding it over to the blonde boy. “Here.”  
“You speak English?” Viktor sputtered.  
“A little,” Mari held up her fingers in a small pinch. “No… rosshia.”  
Yuri snickered. No wonder the magazine looked a little worn for the wear… Viktor was in it, with his long silver locks and a foot less of height.  
“Did you really bring magazines all this way?” Viktor peered over, before taking his place next to Yuri.  
“As if. These are your boyfriend’s. He needs a new name. I was here first.”  
“Technically, he was. He’s six years older than you.” Viktor almost felt like smiling again, even as Yuri rolled his eyes at him. Mari has escaped the conversation, coming back and handing him a mug of coffee.  
“Yurio ate breakfast. We… go to Fukuoka… ten o clock?” Mariko wiggled her hand side to side, unsure.  
Viktor grinned. This made things a lot easier—the gift of a nickname, just like he had becoming Vicchan and Makkachin turned into Makka-chan those months before.  
“Yurio will be easier than Yuratchka for them.” Viktor mused, staring at the old article from his junior years  
“Don’t worry. I won’t be in your way much longer.” Yuri said with a sour taste in his mouth. He almost took a little pleasure in the smile disappearing from Viktor lips.  
“You just got here. And I haven’t seen you in months.”  
“Whose fault is that?” Yuri instantly felt a little twinge of regret at the guilt that clouded over Viktor’s face.  
“Mine. But sometimes people make hard decisions. And I am happy with my decision.”  
“Yakov didn’t think you’d be taking this long.”  
“I honestly didn’t think I would either. My plans changed.”  
“You had a plan?” Yuri scoffed at him again, “You ran off to Japan to a guy you barely knew and you had a plan?”  
“I was going to ask him to come back to St. Petersburg” Viktor sighed  
“And?”  
“His family. I couldn’t do that. And they became my family too.”  
Yuri worried his bottom lip, staring down at the table. Silence stretched between them.  
“And… I’m sorry for leaving my skating family behind.” Viktor breathed out, closing his eyes.  
“Will you ever come back?”  
Viktor opened his eyes. “Of course—“  
“Don’t lie.”  
“I…don’t know. I love Yuuri. If he has cancer… I can’t take him away from his family. Or leave him. I’m old enough to retire anyway.”  
The table shook and rattled with the force of Yuri’s punch.  
“Don’t you dare! I didn’t work this hard for all these years for you to give up before I get to skate against you!”  
Viktor couldn’t help but smile. Even with the constant anger and power from the little punk… it was nice to know that he was still considered a rival. Or someone to look up to at least.  
“I’ve missed you, my little Yuratchka..”  
\--  
Viktor knew Yuri had had enough of hospitals in his life already. Which was why, instead of joining them in the van for the drive to Fukuoka, Viktor stayed behind. He knew the way to Ice Castle by heart, and from there he could extrapolate to the main shopping street. He could entertain Yuri with the discount clothing store full of tacky prints, and there was always something new at the 100 yen store. Barring that, he could drag Yuri to the gaming center that had a fairy floss machine next to all the photo booths.  
Maybe it would keep him distracted too.  
The two Russians stood on the driveway after seeing the Katsuki’s off, the onsen closed for the day. Which wasn’t reassuring in the slightest.   
But he knew Yuuri would tell him. And Yuuri was coming home. If there was one good thing Viktor was good at, it was hiding from pain.  
“So, Yurio—what would you like to do first? We can—“  
“I want to skate.”  
“Seriously? You’re skipping school and coming to Japan to skate?” Viktor laughed, but it died in his throat at the look Yuri gave him.  
“Okay. That wasn’t fair. We’ll skate, only for a few hours. Tell me before you get tired.” Viktor continued, heading back inside to get his bag.  
\--  
Although he was sure there was something in the fridge, it still felt wrong to go through someone else’s fridge while they weren’t home. Which is why Viktor stopped at a 7-11 conbini on the way home from Ice castle. He had forgotten that this was an experience of its own, and let Yuri explore the store on his own while he stared at the dessert case. He picked up the exact kind of pudding Yuuri had barely been able to stomach the night before, turning it over in his hands. He stared at the flower shaped bottom of the container, the caramel syrup settling to the side of the container. He added two more containers, one for each Yuri, before looking for something a little more substantial.  
“Yuri! Over here!” Viktor called, hoping Yuri would listen before he noticed the magazine corner was mainly meant for adults and definitely not for a pubescent foreigner.  
Yuri came over with a basket of his own, looking starry-eyed. “Viktor, they have soft serve in a freezer.” He held up a perfectly shaped ice cream cone that looked like it had just been pulled out of a machine. Viktor shuffled through Yuri’s basket, through the Pop Star potato chips, grimacing as he came across the ‘Coque d’Asse’ cookies and Yuri’s wheezy laughter at it.  
“At least get a sandwich.” Viktor was about to scold himself for sounding too much like a parent, before a rush of déjà vu washed over him.  
He had done this before, but Yuuri had been there. He had gone through all of the funny snacks, adding a few things with a little more protein and power to get them through training.  
And of course, Yuuri had been Yuuri. He hadn’t rolled his eyes or scolded Viktor. He brought him over to the cold case, past the packaged salads, to the row of beautifully- cut sandwiches wrapped in plastic wizardry. Each one was cut in a triangle, set side by side, and wrapped in such a way that pulling one tab would divide the package into two neat halves.  
Yuuri had shared his favorite, the fruit sandwich, layers of seasonal fruit and whipped cream, the soft and slightly sweet shokupan spread with condensed milk. Viktor had grown up never considering sandwich to be a sweet thing, but Yuuri had converted him.  
Viktor paid for all of it, even though Yuri was a reasonably well-traveler. It felt like passing the favor on, and he had a lot to make up to Yuratchka.  
Viktor’s stomach sank as the walked up the driveway of Yuutopia only to see the van back. He moved to check his phone, before the passenger door opened, and Hiroko jumped out, opening the back door. Mari slid out, meeting eyes with Viktor, before she took several steps back, her mother moving forward. Viktor first saw his hand, Yuuri letting his mother help him out of the car, although he had been capable of it for months before. He looked unsteady on his feet.. or was Viktor just over analyzing it?  
“Viktor?” He called out, and Viktor’s stomach plummeted.  
“Yuuri!” He dropped the bag he had from the konbini, running forward, to Yuuri. He thanked every god and God and goddess in the world, because Yuuri immediately melted into his free arms.  
“I’m sorry.” Viktor could feel Yuuri’s voice vibrate against his chest, but the words didn’t make any sense. What was there to be sorry for?   
Yuuri’s shoulders jerked, and Viktor’s shirt tightened as Yuuri’s fingers twisted the fabric and tightened into fist. Viktor’s stomach felt as if it filled with ice water. “What’s wrong, Yuuri?” Viktor breathed, barely able to force his lips into the words. He focused on holding Yuuri up, gently caressing the side of Yuuri’s face that wasn’t buried in his shirt.  
“It’s cancer.” Yuuri looked up, his eyes full and spilling over with heavy tears.


	12. Vitenka

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My internship is kicking my butt, so I think updates will happen Saturday nights/Sundays PST
> 
> Here is the playlist I listen to while writing:  
> https://open.spotify.com/user/121632263/playlist/0nCEicGR7oFq5oxCwNL26E

This wasn’t the first time the world had fallen out from under Viktor, but it was the first time someone was leaning on him.  
He knew what to do when Yuuri was anxious—they went somewhere new, somewhere quiet, found a distraction. Flirting usually worked. But now, that all seemed like an awful idea. Taking him away from his family, and his home after a stressful day and a half away… What was there to do? This was not Viktor’s default state. He had neglected love for 20 years, after all. Whatever Yuuri had inspired in im had yet to grow strong enough to hold both of them up. At least, that’s what Viktor thought. If he couldn’t be Yuuri’s family and support system, then he could be selfish. He scooped Yuuri up, just as he had done the first night they had met. This time, however, Yuuri was awake. This time, he did not limply hang in the Russian Olympian’s arms, nearly slipping away. He stared up, his soft brown eyes wide and red and still shiny from tears, his lips parted in surprise. But he moved closer, sliding his arms around Viktor’s neck and pressing his face into the curve of where his shoulder met his neck. Every nerve in Viktor’s body sang, along with his heart. He lifted his gaze from Yuuri to look up, surprised he still had a heart to react.  
He had forgotten (not completely, but mainly their presence) of Yuuri’s family. In Russia, and likely, in Japan, this was much more than what a coach did. He hated the culture in Russia, but knew nothing of it in Japan. What had he done to Yuuri, so selfishly picking him up? Seducing him? Viktor’s blood ran colder, but when he actually dared to look, the world decided to surprise him instead.  
Hiroko was smiling brightly, teary-eyed, her hands clasped together. Toshiya, Yuuri’s father, looked tired, but happy….and not at all surprised. Mari did not look impressed or shocked in the slightest, and even had her smartphone out to snap a picture.  
Yuri…. His expression was hard to read. He has turned, scuffing his toe along the gravel driveway idly.  
“Yuuri… what do you want…to do?” Viktor said carefully, looking down again. Yuuri held on tightly, his face pressed to Viktor’s neck, but his breathing was evening out, and the sobs slowly disappeared.  
“I want you to do what you did earlier… while I’m awake…” He mumbled, his cheeks warming with the flush of a blush.  
Phichit had been wise when he had pulled off Yuuri’s leg prosthetics that night in the hotel. Navigating the doorways without banging legs—flesh or metal—was difficult. Even though Yuuri did his best to shrink in Viktor’s arm, he wasn’t in the position to adjust the ankles. He had almost laughed at Viktor’s face when he reached the narrow stairs, loudly banging Yuuri’s ankle on the wood paneling.  
“I didn’t feel a thing.” Yuuri said, holding back a shaking smile at Viktor’s paper-white face. “I promise.” They reached Yuuri’s bedroom, and Viktor shrunk onto it. He sat there, intending to give Yuuri most of it, when the man pulled his legs onto the bed with him. Yuuri crawled on top of Viktor, slowly and carefully, pausing, face to face with him.   
“Sorry, I just wanted you to—“  
Viktor cut him off with a kiss, like he had shyly requested downstairs. Yuuri was just as surprised as he had been on the ice yesterday. This time, however, he reacted; closing his eyes, tilting his head and pressing back, moving his lips against Viktor’s. His heart leapt into the throat, and Viktor hungrily kissed him more, taking Yuuri’s bottom lip and biting it gently, scraping his teeth against it. He tasted soft and sweet, the traces of Viktor’s favorite drink between them. He kissed him again, and Yuuri shyly returned the favor, more carefully than Viktor had.  
Viktor stopped, cursing his brain for taking over. For making him wonder if this was too much. Yuuri, after all, had only asked for a kiss, and Viktor was ready to go far beyond that.  
Yuuri melted, sliding down Viktor’s body and covering his red face. He melted against Viktor, close enough that he could feel Yuuri’s pound through his back, and Yuuri could feel Viktor’s. He could feel the metal of Yuuri’s lower legs bite into his own skin, the rubber soles of the shoes he had neglected to take off at the entrance to the home.  
Apologies fought to push past Viktor’s teeth, but he swallowed them back. He closed his eyes, taking in every sense of Yuuri against him.  
Yuuri jerked, stiffening.  
“Viktor, I’m sorry—“  
“What for?”  
He felt tears splatter onto the hand that had wound against Yuuri’s stomach on top of him.  
“I couldn’t tell—you should’ve said..”  
“What? Yuuri, you had no idea about the—“  
Yuuri moved, jerkily pulling off his prosthetics, struggling.  
“Yuuri, what are you doing?” Viktor shifted underneath Yuuri, feeling lost when Yuuri slid off him. He felt a light tingle and warmth in his calves. He glanced at them, and at his ankles—a red mark from Yuuri’s soles, were the blood was rushing back to the flesh.  
“I can’t feel anything, but I know better.” Yuuri's voice shook as he tugged at his leg in vain, more tears dropping from his cheeks and into his lap.  
“Yuuri, I would have told you if it hurt, these things happen!” Viktor was trying desperately to calm him down, wishing to go back to the bliss and warmth of their two bodies together.  
“Yuuri….” Viktor pleaded, when he went quiet. After months of fights and tears and Yuuri messily yelling at Viktor to tell him what to do, it was when he was quiet when it was the worst.  
Viktor slid off the bed, tip toeing around Vicchan and Makkachin, who had been booted to the carpet below. He moved to the foot of the bed, taking Yuuri’s prosthetic and pulling it off. He took off the other, before gently rolling off the socks and liner that protected the remaining limbs.  
“What’re you doing, Viktor?” Yuuri warbled through a hiccup, his eyebrows pressing together, his thick eyelashes wet and sticking together.  
“Yuuri… I want you to love you as much as I do.”  
Viktor said softly as he ran his hand from the scar at the end of what was left of his leg , up Yuuri’s thigh. “ Yuuri’s mind, Yuuri’s body… Yuuri’s legs.” He said softly, leaning down and kissing the scars. Viktor heard Yuuri’s breathing stop as he kissed Yuuri’s knees, closing his eyes.   
“The only way you can hurt me is if you turn me away.”  
There was a sharp sob as Yuuri gasped for air. “Stupid!” He wailed. “Why would I ever do that?” Viktor felt Yuuri’s hands beat the back of his head, and he looked up, blinking away the blurriness that flooded his eyes.  
“You’re crying…” Yuuri whispered, deer in the headlights. He reached out, tenderly sweeping Viktor’s bangs away from his face  
“I’m happy.”  
“Happy?” He had every right to question it, after all. How was he happy, this day, of all days?  
“Happy that I have you, Yuuri.”  
“Not as happy as me,” Yuuri swallowed nervously. “Vitya.” He finished shyly.  
“Vitenka.” Viktor corrected, “Not just friends. Love.” He watched as Yuuri’s expression went from embarrassment, to shock.  
“Vitenka.” Yuuri repeated, diving forward to Viktor—his weight pushed them back onto the floor, Viktor’s back hitting the carpet. Vicchan barked, but Makkachin only lifted her head and gave a knowing look. Neither moved.


	13. Storm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bonus chapter! I wrote this while neglecting my adult responsibilities in a classroom listening to a big thunderstorm.
> 
> My best friend is doing art for each chapter of this fic, please check it out on FB- Amanda "Mandarr" Wearstler Artwork  
> https://www.facebook.com/MandarrArt/photos/pcb.1780765078904100/1780765025570772/?type=3&theater
> 
> I am also updating on a special tumblr  
> https://www.tumblr.com/blog/deepwithinmybonesfic
> 
> We will be collaborating to make a zine of the artwork and story so far at Atomic Comic Con in Tacoma, WA at the end of June. I will probably write some cute extras. I have an idea where I am going, but I just sit down and write.
> 
> Thank you so much for the reviews and comments. They are so inspiring and make my days and weeks better <3

Viktor’s least favorite part of Japan was the weather.  Even October, it was sticky hot, the air so humid and heavy that he felt like he was melting in it. Leaving Ice Castle was leaving a dream and walking into a nightmare. Only one room in the inn had air conditioning, and that was where most staying at Yuutopia gathered for dinner. The whole practice of setsuden—saving electricity—was one Viktor would rather forget.

However,  the storms—oh, the storms.  Hasetsu had nearly everything Viktor really needed. A rink, a post office, good places to eat. Fukuoka was close enough for Yuuri, too. It was not St. Petersburg, a sprawling city with asphalt and exhaust.  Back in St. Petersburg, a storm felt like a heavy blanket—it ruined plans and trapped you indoors.

Here, in Hasetsu, Viktor could sit on the back veranda with Yuuri. He could sit and watch the pond jump as fat raindrops fell into it, and the koi gulp at it as if it were food. The soft rush of rain would surround them, the croak of frogs would make him forget that there was anything else in the world but nature. Thunder would rumble so loud that Viktor could feel it in his veins.  It grounded him, and made the world feel less wide and empty.

He wish it was the same for Yuuri.

He willingly obliged Viktor, sitting on the veranda with him in the middle of the thunderstorm. But he could not relax. Viktor would close his eyes and drink it all in, and open them to Yuuri staring worriedly up to the sky.  He clung to Vicchan, hugging him tightly. Makkachin fed off Viktor, and slept with her head in his lap, unphased by the loud noise.

“Do you not enjoy it?” Viktor asked, lifting a hand to run his fingers through Yuuri’s soft hair.

“I don’t mind… I just… It makes me anxious. I feel like we should shut all the doors and lock them and have candles…”

“It’s just a storm.” Viktor was still navigating how to be comforting without dismissive. It was hard.

“I know. But when I was little, a typhoon hit Hasetsu. They canceled school and my parents were busy figuring out how to deal with the guests and keep the hot springs protected.  One of the doors was left open, and the room flooded. We lost a lot of money that year…” He started playing with Vicchan's ears. “Which is why I didn’t tell my parents about my ankles… “;;

“Your ank…. Ah..” Viktor bowed his head. “But you’re well now… and Yuutopia is thriving.” Yuuri gave a wry smile.

“How bad is it, Yuuri?” Viktor breathed. He stared down at Makkachin. Neither man could bear to look at each other.

“Not now, Viktor.” Yuuri said softly.

He probably didn’t mean it, but it stung. Yuuri knew barely any Russian, but some link between their two worlds somehow enabled him to slam that door shut between them.

 

“Later?” Viktor looked away from Makkachin, his stomach settling a little as Yuuri leaned into his side.

Yuuri fought internally. Viktor could tell, the love of his life biting his bottom lip and working his fingers into Vicchan’s fur.

“I’m tired of keeping secrets and ignoring it. But… I want memories with you more than anything.” He looked up, Viktor moving forward, his hands leaving Makkachin and  moving to cup Yuuri’s face.

He kissed him, and relished in the reciprocation. He still tasted like that mornings toothpaste, and Viktor could still smell his shampoo. He loved it more than the storm, than  his Japan family, more than skating.  Something about Yuuri—the taste of him, the smell of him, how he awkwardly responded in an unlearned, instinctual way to Viktor’s advances—it filled the aching emptiness inside Viktor.

Viktor opened his eyes  before Yuuri, his heart squeezing at the soft, easy smile that graced Yuuri’s lips after they pulled apart.

“I love you, Yuuri.” Viktor whispered, and Yuuri opened his eyes.  

“Thank you for not telling me when I’m passed out.” Yuuri murmured, before he broke out into a smile, the anxiety have melted away. Viktor pouted, taking a deep breath, ready to protest, before Yuuri tilted his head, reaching up between his arms to touch his lips. “I’ve loved you for a long time. “

Viktor remembered Yuuri doing parts of his past routines in the early months of his life in Hasetsu. He of course remembered the banquet… but he had been kind of absorbed in his own obsession to think about what Yuuri had done before they met.

“I love you even more now.”


	14. Apples

 

It took a few days to get back into the normal routine.  Part of it had been Viktor—after waking up at his usual time with Yuuri, he decided to ignore the time  and the idea of practice. He laid with Yuuri until he woke up on his own—which was midday without an alarm, apparently.

Then they had the Katsuki’s. They ate lunch together, and when Yuuri, ever dedicated Yuuri, brought up practice, his mother shot it down. They spent the weekend together, the Nishigori family and Yuuri’s old ballet instructor joining them for a game night. Viktor had dreaded it, going with the flow, but secretly mad that he hadn’t had a private moment beyond his homecoming. Sure, his parents had been welcoming, and Mari had done her duty as an embarrassing big sister. It was completely different to be around people Yuuri grew up with and had known for years. Viktor had felt out of the loop and new, fearing that he would lose the ground he had gained with Yuuri, and would starve for touch.

But, yet again, Yuuri reminded why he loved this place so much. How he was letting his old scars come back to the surface. Yuuri did not shy away, sitting next to him, leaning into Viktor.  As the night went on and everyone around them got drunker, Yuuri became heavier. Next to each other became together, Yuuri moving onto his lap during a particular daring game of Jenga. He hid his face against Viktor’s shoulders when the photo albums came out.

It was everything Viktor wish he had grown up with.

The next morning, Toshiya nursed a hangover while Hiroko shooed them into the van.

Viktor had dealt with a lump of dread sitting in his stomach until Yuuri woke up enough to translate.

They spent the day in an orchard, eating apples they pulled off the trees around them. Hiroko gasped and giggled as Viktor had sunk his teeth right into the flesh of a green apple.

“What’s so funny?” Viktor said through a mouthful. The best apple he had in months—the ones in the stores were pushing 500 yen, and Viktor had avoided them. Why get one apple when you could get a whole lunch?

“She says she forgot you’re foreign sometimes,” Yuuri blushed, letting his mother take another freshly picked apple out of his hands. “and no wonder I like you.”

“Huh? “ This did nothing to clarify anything for Viktor. Hiroko took a paring knife from her bag, and skillfully peeled the skin off in a perfect spiral.

“It’s dumb…. When I came back from Detroit, I ate like that too. Everyone in Japan peels their fruit.” Yuuri looked sheepish.

“I like it when you bite into me,” Viktor cooed, Yuuri looking red, turning on his heel to look at the tree behind him. Each tree had a cardboard label with a name scribbled on it in black marker, but it was useless to him.  Even if he deciphered the hiragana Yuuri had taught him, the poetic names did not connect to the Russian names in his head.

Besides, Yuuri was more interesting than the apples.

Viktor had been so enveloped in dreaming about Yuuri on the ice, of competing together at the finals… that he hadn’t realized how he loved him elsewhere.

Everything was so _Yuuri_.  How the man took time to hold the branches so he didn’t pull anything more than he needed to when he picked an apple. How he swayed while he rocked. How he had brought the canes Viktor had seen Phichit with at the Gala…. And then left them on the picnic blanket, leaning against Viktor instead.

He even loved how Hiroko patted Viktor’s arm, pulled him closer and rubbed in the bug spray into his neck and cheeks.  He missed the motherly touch. He loved how Hiroko thought of him, even if it embarrassed  Yuuri. He could tell, when  Viktor was the first to get a plate of Ritz salt crackers, topped with a thin slice of apple and a melted marshmallow. The Nishigori triplets were the only others to get the treat, besides Yuuri, who reluctantly opened his mouth for Viktor.

The family had done their best to erase the trauma and stress of the day Yuuri fell on the ice.

They mostly succeeded.

 

* * *

 

Viktor had enough peace of mind to think of what to get Yuuri practicing on. He stayed off the ice, neglecting to put his skates on as if he had been the curse to bring him down.

It was stupid, and useless, as he had seen the medical records, and Yuuri had another appointment later in the week.

But he still felt responsible.  Everything weighed in on his mind, especially after leaving Yuutopia behind.

Viktor hadn’t notice he had lost himself in his own world until the scrape and slice of the ice stopped.

Yuuri was mad.

He wasn’t Yakov, mad,  or Yuri mad. There was no yelling or kicking or anything really.

He was quiet.

Too quiet.

He glowered at Viktor, his mouth set in a hard pout, the rest of his expression closed off.

Viktor looked up from his phone. “Yuuri! Great job,”

“What do I need to adjust.” He said flatly, a few inches away, the wall of the rink the only thing between them. He felt a lot further away.

“Uh, I think---“

“You weren’t even watching.” Yuuri interrupted.

“I was!” Viktor squeaked.  He dreaded this new Yuuri, who moved his hands when Viktor went to hold his cold fingers.

“You weren’t watching enough.” He leaned over, a small blessing, the blessing withering when Yuuri peered at Viktor’s phone.

He squinted, taking the phone and holding it closer to his nose.

“What is it?” He said, his tone softening at the end, tilting the black and white rows of Cyrillic.

“Just a page from a friend.” Viktor said, his throat closing up.   Yuuri closed up again, taking his thumb and scrolling up.

Damn Chris for sending him a Wikipedia link.

Yuuri switched it to English, then to Japanese with a surprising about of ease.

Viktor hated himself.

“Life expectancy of leukemia...?” Yuuri stared at the screen. He sounded empty, and sad.

He sounded like Viktor had felt, before all of this.

“Yuuri, I can explain, I just… I just want to  know everything.”

“So you can be prepared?” Yuuri’s hand tightened around the phone, but all Viktor could notice was his veins standing out under the fishnet and lycra half-gloves.

“So I can help you fight it.” Viktor’s voice broke, and he felt fresh stinging of his cheeks as tears trailed down them without warning.

So this was it.

He could feel everything fall apart as Yuuri was quiet, staring down at Viktor’s phone in his hand.

“Not here, Vitenka. Not on the ice.” Yuuri set the phone down, balancing it on the wall between them, before pushing off, skating back to the middle of the rink.

He threw himself into another jump, landing sloppily. He didn’t improve,  moving into other maneuvers and spins, never ending gracefully.

Thankfully, he never fell.

He kept at it, until Viktor realized that he couldn’t wait for Yuuri to come back.

He left the side of the rink to lace up his skates.

“Yuuri.” He easily avoided Yuuri as he finished another messy jump. He looked at him, but didn’t say anything.

“Nagano is next week.” Yuuri’s eyes fluttered downward. “For your exhibition… Viktor continued. “We should do a pair skate.”

“Only winners get an exhibition, Vitenka.” He said it as if Viktor was being stupid.

“Perfect—if you don’t place, I will, and we can do it at the Cup.” Viktor lifted his arms, his hands spread wide.

“It’s a week away.” Yuuri said, sliding back and forth, the same action of scuffing his toe against asphalt.

“You already know most of it, we just have to change the end of it to pair skate.” Viktor could feel his heart lifting as Yuuri humored him more and more.

“I’m not skating Eros like that.” Yuuri stammered. “If I even am allowed to compete.”

“No, silly.” Viktor skated closer, kissing his cheek. “Stammi Vicino.”

“That’s your routine,” Yuuri said softly.

“I’ve seen you try it.” Yuuri jerked, looking panicked and embarrassed. “I want to do it together.”

“There’s only a week!” He started to worry his bottom lip again. He didn’t stop moving.

“You took the podium at an international event, Yuuri.  You can do it.” Viktor reached forward, taking Yuuri’s wrists in his hands, then gently unfolding Yuuri’s hands into his own.

“This is different. This is you.” It was maddening that he still couldn’t face Viktor, even with his touch and what they had said in the storm and in bed. It was awful.

But Yuuri’s lack of confidence was worse.

“Please?” Viktor leaned down, making himself look into Yuuri’s eyes. “I want memories, too. “

“Memories of you being ridiculed for showing up skating with a nobody?” Yuuri made a sour face, a corner of his mouth curling up in self-deprecation.

“Of skating on the same ice as my love. “ Viktor forced another stage-smile, pushing Yuuri’s chin up  gently. “Wasn’t that your dream?”

“Who told you? Phichit?” Yuuri turned pink.

“You did, silly. The first night we slept together.”

Yuuri nearly collapsed. “We did that?”

“Sadly, not that. You just are an incredibly good cuddler.” The smile was genuine now. “But if you wanted to…” He teased.

“Don’t be stupid.” Yuuri whispered hoarsely. “No one in my family knows what privacy means.” He was even pinker now. The heavens opened up, angels sang. Viktor thought he was still in bed, dreaming about this miracle.

“Are you saying….?” His voice peaked at the end. He hoped Yuuri didn’t notice his heart beating a mile a minute.

“Not in Hasetsu.” Yuuri said firmly, worrying his lips again, biting them, and driving Viktor crazy.

“Let’s go to Tokyo!” Viktor sang.

“What? Now?” Viktor bobbed his head, clapping his hands happily in affirmation. “Are you insane?” Yuuri squeaked “That’s the other side of the country! It’ll take hours!”

“Aahhh… Hiroshima?” Viktor smiled.

“Still… two hours on shinkansen.” Yuuri wilted slightly. “You don’t know anything about Japan, do you?”

“I know about you..” Viktor shrugged. “Tokyo is close to Nagano, isn’t it?”

“It’s a little far… and I don’t have membership for their rink.” Yuuri rubbed his fingers against Viktor’s, deep in thought. “We can go to Fukuoka.”

“Are you sure…?” All Viktor knew about the city was it held the hospital and an international airport.

“Mm. It’s  a big city, and has a lot of import stores.  We can say we are getting ingredients for a Russian dinner.”

“Do you know anything about Russia?” Viktor teased, the smile fading at Yuuri’s serious look.

“Your favorite  food is syrniki.” Yuuri said flatly. Viktor kissed him. “I am not Russia, but I love it.”


	15. Ghost

Something was wrong.

It felt wrong, which is what pulled Viktor from a blissful sleep after one of the best days he had in his life.  The bedside lamp on the nightstand in the anonymous hotel they picked in the city was still on. It was the perfect backlight to Yuuri’s profile, his face crumbled in pain, quiet tears sliding down his cheeks and soaking into the sheets.

“Yuuri…” Viktor breathed, immediately sitting up. By habit, he reached for the blankets to cover himself, before remembering he didn’t have to…. Yuuri hadn’t… but it wasn’t a good idea to think of that.  He had a good reason to not bother. He touched his _zvezda’s_ shoulder. It was unnerving how quiet  Yuuri could get.

“Whats wrong…? Did I do something…?” Acid built up in his stomach at the thought—had he pushed Yuuri too fast? Was this too much? It had been years since Victor had bothered to put any thought to the matter. Even then, he had been empty, and something like society’s concept of virginity was meaningless to him. But this was Yuuri. This was the man who had slept on the floor when Makkachin felt unwell, making sure she was okay and eating enough. This was the man who completely shut down at any talk of relationships—even when Mariko and Phichit (over Skype) joined in. It had been Phichit who had put the nail in that coffin, and reassured Viktor that this was new ground with Yuuri.

But no, this was worse. The news that Viktor had swept to the back of his mind, and the fall at the rink… this had a much deeper, darker shadow to it than an overwhelming, intimate night.

“Mmn?” A  pained noise escaped from Yuuri, and he shifted gingerly toward Viktor. “Oh, no… its…” He blinked, his dark eyelashes wet and sticking together with heavy tears. “It happens.”

“We should go to the hospital.” Viktor reached over Yuuri for his glasses on the nightstand, their skin golden in the cheap lamplight.

“No!” Viktor froze. He was not in the mood to argue—he had listened to Yuuri, obeyed his requests for savings it for outside for the rink—not now—not at home. He was avoiding it. But he wasn’t going to sit by and let something eat Yuuri from the inside out.

“Yuuri. We’re going.”

“No, I don’t need to. They can’t… it happens, okay?” His tears were in freefall now. “It’s my feet.”

Viktor cast a glance to the metal prosthetics that lay haphazardly on the carpet next to the bed.

“It’s… um…” His fingers pressed against his forehead, his tshirt balled in his lap, wet. “Ghost pain… it  happens… they tell you about it.”

Viktor reached up and pushed Yuuri’s hair  back tenderly. “Shall I get some medicine?” His star shook his head.

“It won’t work…the nerves aren’t there. It’s the brain.” Yuuri fell into Viktor’s side, the familiar touch he had grown to love ever since the night watching the fireworks.

“I want to help..” Viktor caught himself pouting. Now was not the time to manipulate  Yuuri into doing what he wanted.. the acting was so automatic, he hated it.

“You are…” Yuuri breathed, the sound ragged and worn sounding. He looked up at Viktor, with a heartbreaking smile. “Distractions help a lot.”

“You should have woken me up, Zvezda.”

“I’m too tired for Russian.  English is enough.”

He was stunned. That was the most direct and dull Yuuri had been in months.

“Then we can try Japanese.” Viktor chirped, grabbing his phone as the surprise and horror spread across  Yuuri’s face.

“Ai-shi-te-ru.” Viktor pieced out after tapping through a few apps. Yuuri immediately buried his face in his hands.

“Oh god..”

“That bad?” Viktor pretended to be wounded.

“No! No… Just very strong. No one really says that.”

“But I love you.” Viktor’s tone fell at the end. By now, it had to be obvious. What more could he do?

“I know.” Yuuri turned tomato red, hiding his face in his hands. “It’s just…”

“What. Not Japanese?” He had heard this before—hugging, perfume, eating fruit with the skin on. Not Japanese.

“Very Viktor.”


	16. Nagano

The dread and stress did not go away, no matter how hard Viktor wished it away.  Even  an intimate night ended with pain, and a trip back home to their family—the most supportive Viktor had ever met—ended in  sharp words and hunched shoulders. Viktor had never hated the concept of Babel more than now—sitting and watching his Yuuri close up, talking to his mother and father, every party in the discussion tense. Viktor didn’t dare interrupt asking for translation when Yuuri looked ready to cry. His time would come. When the conversation came to a lull, Viktor took Yuuri’s chin  in his hand and lifted it, going for a kiss. Yuuri turned his head, his eyes downcast.

“Yuuri, what is it?” Viktor sounded on the verge of tears himself. He didn’t expect the man who made him the happiest would bring tears to his eyes too.

In a different way than in his past.

“My parents want me to start treatment.”

“Of course Yuuri—we are going to fight, right?” Viktor had to force a smile.

“Yes, Vitenka…” He still blushed saying that name. “It would keep me from the  Cup of China with you…”

“Oh.” The reaction slipped from his lips before he could control the tone. It wasn’t good—he could see Yuuri already begin to fidget anxiously and draw back.

“My parents won’t let my delay it, but I want to try anyway. You worked so hard getting me into the competition, and we’ve trained for so long.” His words were faster,  crashing together.   Viktor could see his heart beat faster through his neck, He was panicking.

“Yuuri… I want you to be healthy. If we only have Ice Castle together, that’s all that matters.” He watched as Yuuri’s worrying mouth hardened into a straight line.

“No. It’s been my dream since I started skating to skate on the same ice as you.”

“But you have—“

“ Not  just Ice Castle.” He sighed, exasperated. “Competing. Across the world.  Giving you a run for your money.”

“But you need to get treatment…” It was hard to balance the worry for the love of his life, and Yuuri’s apparent need to compete against him.

“I know. But I would feel stupid if I gave up on the Cup, and didn’t make it through treatment. I’m  so incredibly close, it would be laughing in God’s face to give up now.”

“But Yuuri,” Viktor stammered—a whirl on conflicting emotions. “If you delay treatment, you can get worse, it’s not worth risking your life over.” Yuuri had slipped out of Viktor’s grasp, and was now staring at his hands, picking at them.

“Everyone says that.”  He said softly. “As if they know it.”

“Yuuri, please.” Viktor’s voice broke. Pulling strings to get a new competitor at the Cup was no easy feat, and he had not done it as a last wish—he had done it for himself, to show off this treasure of a man.

“I’m not stupid.” Yuuri’s voice was hoarse “I’ll get it early in the week, and sleep until competition. I’ll…need your cooperation.” He bowed slightly, and it kind of stung.

“Yuuri, if you hurt yourself again, I’ll never be able to forgive myself.” Viktor said gravely.

“It’s my decision, Viktor. It doesn’t reflect on you. I need to do this.” He fidgeted, pulling on his clothes, before he fell forward, burying his face into Viktor’s chest.

How could anyone refuse that?

~~~

Mari took the weekend off and traveled up to Nagano  with them the day before the competition. Viktor began the long trip tense and bitter that she was stepping on their toes… but he kept quiet. It was his family, after all. None of them had made it to Sochi, and seeing Yuuri’s sweet smile soothed him. He felt worse when they actually made it out of Hasetsu, and the day-long photoshoot began. Mari had them constantly posing for pictures- with ekiben lunches, in front of station signs, at the venue. He avoided telling Yuuri, but relished checking her Instagram and finding sneaked pictures of the pair staring out the window, sharing a juice box. The Katsuki’s were angels.

Although Viktor had no business in Nagano—he easily had placed into the Cup, and had no need to compete as a finalist in Japan—he felt welcomed.  Skating fans rejoiced… but the most refreshing was seeing Yuuri. Senior skaters and coaches from the JSF came in waves, greeting Yuuri like an old friend. He smiled, always looking humble. The best was when he subconsciously leaned back into Viktor.

“Ne, Viktor, can we take a break?” Yuuri turned to him as the hundredth coach something-or-other left to talk to another competitor. “Mmm?” He turned back to Yuuri—this was old hat, after all.

“My legs hurt… and I just…” He trailed off, looking drained. “Want some time with you?”

Viktor smiled and nodded enthusiastically. He wrapped an arm around Yuuri’s waist, leading him outside and calling a cab back to the hotel. Yuuri dragged his feet to the bed, immediately going to pull off his prosthetics.

“Where’s Mari?” Viktor asked cautiously. There was only one bed, however large, he didn’t know if he was that close to the family yet.

“Staying downtown. She has some friends from college here.” Yuuri sounded exhausted, and he immediately flopped backward onto the mattress once he was free of his legs.

Viktor played with the black tray on the table, peering at the packaged rice crackers and tea bags laid artfully out.

“Oh, there’s a hot water pot in the cabinet.” Yuuri said, rolling onto his side, plugging his phone in to charge.

“Do you want tea? Viktor perked up, looking back at Yuuri.  The memory of their night in Fukuoka crept back from the recesses of his mind. “How are your legs?”

“Same as always.” Yuuri looked up as the mattress next to him sunk under Viktor’s weight. “It happens. Don’t be worried.” His eyes widened slightly as he rolled into Viktor’s body.

“Do you feel dizzy?” He felt like a doting housewife, but without Hiroko there to nag him, he worried he would have a repeat of the fall.

“No.. just tired. Talking to so many people… I don’t remember many names. It was hard.” Yuuri’s voice softened, his hand resting between them near Viktor’s heart. “I needed this.”

~~

After a forced full breakfast at the hotel, Yuuri went on to take the podium in bronze. Viktor watched from the kiss and cry, falling in love all over again. His anxiety of the past week about whether Yuuri would be healthy enough, and as open and cuddly as he was in Hasetsu was soothed by the beautiful performance. His heart stuttered when Eros locked eyes with him, and when Yuuri landed a quad with a locked ankle.  The brightness that had been missing at Sochi sparkled in Yuuri’s eyes and in Viktor’s heart.

They celebrated that night with katsudon at a small mom and pop restaurant a few blocks from the hotel.  Mari joined them, hugging Yuuri and slapping him on the back in between mugs of celebratory beer.

Viktor ended up saving photos from that weekend on his phone, staring at them to burn them into his memory.  He committed every light and shadow to memory, just in case he needed to replace the image before him with a healthier one.

Yuuri refused to allow Viktor to accompany him to his chemotherapy appointment. Having done it before, he said that he would only be asleep, attached to an IV for a few hours. It was a day he didn’t dare wish on anyone else. So Viktor was ready, waiting with Makkachin and Vicchan in his lap when the Katsuki fan pulled up in the early darkness. Viktor carried Yuuri up to his bedroom, letting his angel sleep, hoping the grey circles under his eyes would disappear soon.

Viktor ended up packing for Yuuri, under duress at the perfect puppy-doe-eyes. Whatever food Yuuri managed to eat didn’t last long, which meant he didn’t make it far out of bed. After the second day, Viktor carried him downstairs into a fort of blankets in front of a TV and more company than a Russian and two panting dogs. He was too tired to protest.

The day Hiroko took Yuuri’s suitcase and unpacked it, was the first day Yuuri kept down food. After a second meal, he re-packed himself and printed their plane tickets on the computer.

“Yuuri..” Viktor glanced back into the living room as he helped Yuuri put on the prosthetics he had been unable to fit into for the past few days. “Are you sure?”

“I’m sure.” Yuuri said with such certainty, Viktor was taken aback by this new  Yuuri.

“But your parents…”

“Were like this before, too.” Yuuri said softly, the click of the prosthetic lock punctuating his statement. “ This time, I can’t give up.”


	17. Ice

“How many stores did you go to?”  Yuuri’s voice was soft and hoarse as he sat up from his nap on the hotel bed. Viktor had decided to avoid the extra family strife and get a hotel near the airport, rather than call in a favor from the Katsuki Yuutopia van.

“Two, I didn’t think there were many flavors, and I wasn’t sure what you would like.”

“Viktor,” Yuuri laughed. “You could have asked me! There’s too much ice cream.”

“But that’s all you have been able to eat, and I wanted you to rest.” Viktor said firmly, standing behind his decision and the twenty-something types of ice cream in the plastic bag in front of him.

“I’m not picky. You could have chosen your favorite and I would eat it too.” Yuuri pulled out one of the (thankfully tiny) Hagen-Dazs container. “Do you like green tea?” He quirked his head to the side.

“From what I have had, I suppose so. Why?” Viktor shuffled through the bag.

“there’s five kinds of matcha in here. Green tea, green tea and.. mochi, green tea truffle, green tea and  adzuki bean…”

“Oh, I just looked at the pictures. Except this one. I read that one.” Viktor proudly pulled out and plopped a strawberry cheesecake flavor into his hand.

“Hagen Dazs has english on the other side.”  Yuuri said quietly, before lovingly patting the side of Viktor’s face. “Good job , katakana is really difficult.”

The two sorted through the ice cream together, pushing the tomato and carrot flavors to the side. Viktor started with one of the  versions of strawberry flavors, while Yuuri started off with a mint chocolate chip.

“What is that? It’s green?” Viktor peered over at Yuuri’s first choice after snuggling next to him on the bed.

“Mint chocolate chip. I used to get it a lot when  I trained in Detriot.”

“Ah. Very American.” Viktor didn’t know what else to say. Detroit didn’t come up much in conversation.

“It was Phichit’s favorite too, and there was a Baskin Robbins near campus. We went there first since I recognized it from Japan.” For the first time in days, he had a subconscious smile across his face from the nostalgia.

“So it’s good memories for you,right?”  Yuuri nodded in response. “It is. Like my mom and Calpis soda. What ice cream is nostalgic for you?”

“Hmmm. I would say… Crème Brulee… Very popular in Russia. St. Petersburg has a famous frozen food company. I would often get Yakov to buy me some if he was in a good mood after practice.

“He has a good mood?” Yuuri was genuinely surprised. All the media coverage and interviews, Yakov was a harsh and upright man. When Yurio had visited,  he and Viktor had talked about Yakov yelling, no matter how fondly it was recalled.

“Of course. Yakov is like a father to me. I know how to get on his good side.” Viktor smirked mischievously.

“Vitenka…”

“Mmm?”

“If I get better..”

“When.” Viktor corrected.

“When I get better… we should go to Russia.”

Viktor’s  mouth dropped open.

“I… I’m sorry for bringing it up suddenly..” Yuuri stuttered before Viktor pulled him into a bear hug.

“Oh Yuuri!” Viktor could only  put that to words, wondering if Yuuri had been anxious over the long months spent in Russia, that he was worried he missed Yakov.. it could be anything. But the guesture meant everything.

“I can show you my favorite places, and see you in my apartment..”

“You still have an apartment?” Yuuri squeaked. It had been way too long that any rented place would have been filled, even in sleepy Hasetsu.

Viktor waved his hand vaguely. “You could train with Yurio, he’s a big fan of you, and maybe he would listen better.” Yuuri flushed as Viktor rambled on.

“But first,” Viktor said firmly,  “We have the Cup of China. And you getting healthy.”

 

They woke up in the same bed, the choice natural and easily made when they had booked the room. Viktor gathered what little they had pulled from the suitcases while Yuuri slowly woke up at the rate of the undead. He woke up enough to insist on pulling his luggage to the lobby, and down the street to the train line that would take them directly to the airport. He fell asleep on the train ride, leaning into and drooling a little on Viktor’s shoulder, his arms looped around the backpack on his lap. He missed seeing Yuuri’s whole face—even before the chemotherapy he had taken to wearing flu masks during travel, but now it was required. Any cough or sneeze from a stranger could take down his fragile immune system and bring him back to the hospital—or worse. Viktor thanked his lucky stars that this was a norm in Asia, otherwise Yuuri’s chance at being fit enough for the competition lowered drastically.  He had pulled too many strings to give up now.

Moreover, he refused to disappoint Yuuri.

~~~

Viktor had been to event venues many times before. There was no reason for nerves to creep up his back and settle into his stomach. But something about this year felt different. His disappearance from Russia had popped up in the media after all, but he had been able to keep his stint in Hasetsu quiet. Nagano had sparked up a new frenzy, and the sheer amount of media for the Cup was making him nervous. He felt like Yuuri would be a wreck too, much like he had been before Nagano. But he merely followed Viktor like a duckling, looking tired and a little dreamy. Neither of them noticed it until it was too late- Phichit ambushed both of them, pulling Yuuri and Viktor into a group bear-hug.

“Swasdi, my favorite couple!” He cheered. “Ready to rumble?”

“Phichit, please…!” Yuuri’s tone was caught between pleading and laughter. “The whole world can hear you..”

“Literally. Everyone is here, even that crazy Canadian dude.” Phichit looked like the cat who got the mouse, swallowing back a smile. “I’ve missed you, Yuuri. Skype just isn’t the same.” Yuuri moved into the prime selfie pose with the ease that spoke of years of experience. Phichit had his phone at the ready, shuffling to get Viktor in the background.

“You should have your honeymoon in Thailand, my aunt has a condo by  the beach, and I can show you all the good places to eat.” Phichit chattered as he tapped at his phone, uploading and tagging as words spilled out of his mouth.

“Phichit!” Yuuri said sharply, and said man looked up and offered a bright smile. “I know, I know. I’m just thinking of the future! I’ll save it for dinner.”

“Did I hear dinner?” Phichit brightened, waving at the source of the sensual voice. Viktor merely looked over, watching as Yuuri freaked out at the hello butt-touch from Christophe. He stepped over, working an arm around Yuuri,  which helped him relax slightly, but he still watched the Swiss skater with wide eyes and pink cheeks.

“Yes! Let’s make it a reunion! I am feeling hot pot!” Phichit chirped. “I did some research for my vlog about some great spots for food, remember Yuuri? There’s a dog café in the next neighborhood with some cuties ready to get cuddles.”

Yuuri smiled sweetly. “Sounds great, Phichit, but we have the competition to worry about first.”

“Are you worried?” Phichit brows furrowed. “Because we can work on that.  It’s totally natural to do that, but I am here for you if you feel another pan---“

Yuuri smushed his hand against Phichit’s mouth. “Not here, please.  They’re already going to think I’m going to lose with my legs. I don’t want them to get any more ideas.”

“Psh! Let them get new ideas and get blown out of the water!” Phichit rolled his eyes. “You only have the worlds BEST figure skater as a coach!”

Viktor smiled and winked at Yuuri, glad that for once, he wasn’t the one making Yuuri embarrassed.

~~~

Viktor, in a fit of late-night anxiety in the early months of Hasetsu, had worked himself into a knot. He had spent too long thinking about Yuuri and the costume he had chosen for Eros.  The hundreds of euros he had spent on sending the boxes from Russia had been worth it. Yuuri had spent hours, sparkly-eyed and slack-jawed, recalling each award and competition and routine each costume belonged to. That wasn’t what bothered Viktor. What bothered him was the little thought that had wormed into the back of his mind—wasn’t he being selfish?  He looked forward to every time he saw Yuuri wear it, and caught himself imaging moving under the fabric, the layered straps and tight lycra. The whole Eros routine he had made Yuuri,  under the guise of pushing him out of his comfort zone, was entirely for Viktor’s own profit.  Yuuko had only seen it on accident as owner of the rink.

The anxiety that gnawed at the back of his mind had stayed there, but during the competition it reared its vicious head.

Viktor had no idea if the judges would love the Yuuri  that Viktor had pulled into this indulgent world.

He went to Japan to see  Yuuri. He choreographed Eros to see Yuuri’s body move in beautiful ways. He pulled strings and cashed in favors to have his Yuuri join him  in competition.

Staring at Yuuri now… he hated how his tunnel vision had affected what he had built up for so long.

He barely ate breakfast, even refusing the ice cream Viktor ordered from room service while Yuuri took a post-breakfast shower to wake up. He had two coffees, and took twice as long to notice when someone called his name.  He let Viktor help him into the costume,  blank and tired when Viktor’s hand brushed over his butt and  later smoothed the fabric over his biceps

“Let’s show them your beautiful face.” Viktor hummed, pulling out the jar of hair wax and dipping his fingers into it.  Yuuri let him smooth his bangs out of his face, his eyes staring at Viktor’s chest, finger running down the lanyard that held his event pass.

“Yuuri, if you aren’t feeling well…” Viktor frowned, keeping his voice low and private.

“I feel great!” Yuuri smiled, and although he knew it wasn’t true, Viktor let it tug at his heart strings. Yuuri knew how to make it hard to say no to him.

An awkward silence fell between them. “I’ve never seen this one.” Yuuri said softly, moving his touch from the lanyard to the fabric of Viktor’s outfit. It was all black, the darkest black, some of the edges bleeding into feathers.

A few months ago, Viktor had contacted the designer and asked for a new image for it. Scattered within the soul-sucking black and soft feathers, were small mirrored pieces flowing out from the center of his chest.

Viktor liked to think that it evoked Eros.

Much better than the painted despair black he had been planning the year before.

“The order is out!” Phichit interrupted the moment, already changed into rich red brocade and excitement. “Guess who is back to back! Or butt to butt!” He snickered, and the corner of Yuuri’s mouth twitched. “Viktor and Yuuri!”

“Oh.” Yuuri flushed. “Lucky, huh?” He turned and looked up at Viktor, and he melted.

He pulled Yuuri into a tight hug, squeezing the air out of him, overwhelmed by emotion. Yuuri didn’t complain, only tapping him on the shoulder when he needed air back in his lungs.

“You can do it, Yuuri.”

“You can do it, Viktor. You go first.”  Yuuri tilted his head to the side, and the sweetness was tinged bitter by the shadow it cast under his tired eyes.


	18. Scarlet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the kudos and favorites! Reviews and comments give me life <3

Yuuri watched as Viktor left the competitor’s room, through the kiss and cry and waited for his cue to glide onto the ice. Yakov was still his coach, but had been largely absent that morning, spending his time with Yurio instead.

“It’s pretty ballsy for him to show up after disappearing for almost  a year.”

“Word is he bribed the judges to let some nobody compete with him.”

Yuuri’s mind snapped from worrying about Viktor to the chatter that picked up once he had left the room.

“So he spent the last year coaching? What a waste of talent.”

“Are you kidding me? He should have stayed out and let someone else at the gold. His glory days are over.”

Something boiled deep inside Yuuri--- whether it was anger or nerves, he couldn’t tell any longer. He had spent so long feeling sick and tired that it had just become background noise. He stood up, marching to the doors that led to the kiss and cry. He slid past and under a camera man until he was at the gate where Viktor would skate up to after finishing his routine.  Yakov was sitting on the bench, holding a familiar looking furry tissue box case in his lap, his expression somber.

The performance was flawless. Viktor hit every jump and spin with a perfection only the God of Figure Skating could reach.

Viktor, caught up in the performance and the adrenaline was out of breath as he stepped onto the ice. Yakov had his ice guards, but Yuuri wobbled past him. Black feathery fluff fell from Viktor’s costume as  Yuuri grabbed a fistful of it and pulled him down into a fervent kiss.

“Yuuri! Save the Eros for the ice!” Viktor cooed, unaware of the flush that reached his cheeks, as if transferred from  Yuuri. He couldn’t say he didn’t like this side of Yuuri, however surprising it was.

“Good luck, my zvesda.” Viktor gave a quick kiss, taking his blade guards from Yakov. It was Yuuri’s turn to take to the ice.

Viktor seemed to glow as he walked with his coach to the bench on the kiss and cry. He had no idea what his score would be—he had been thinking of the next performance, Yuuri’s. He had five gold medals and years  of competitions behind him.  This year, it was about completing the dream of the drunk beauty that had poured his dreams out on a dark night in Sochi.

“Mr. Nikiforov, you’ve been seen with Special Olympics skater Yuuri Katsuki, who has joined you at the Cup of China. What is he to you? “

It was not the first time the media had asked him about his private life. Usually it had been for the magazines, or  if he was stupid enough to be seen with someone the night of the Olympics.

Somehow, this time, it was hard. He couldn’t brush it away with a bright smile and concomitant wave of his hand. They were asking about Yuuri. His Yuuri.

But what was he? They slept together, in the holy and the unholy sense. But they had never gone on a date or celebrated an anniversary. The word boyfriend never came up in conversation. They just had the pet names, and he was finally Vitenka… but what other title was there? Lover felt to shallow, like Yuuri was part of the group of one-night stands and dead end streets.  Boyfriend was too casual, but fiancée wasn’t official. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to commit to  a lifetime with Yuuri… It was the opposite. They merely lived, wordlessly, as if their time together would never end.

“Yuuri….. is..” Viktor could tell that the media was waiting for an answer. Even Yakov was getting irritated. “The love of my life.” Viktor  said, before escaping his head and smiling dreamily for the camera.

He let Yakov comment on the score,  after he did the obligatory smile about placing high enough for another guaranteed Gold. He hugged his coach, before leaving the camera behind and focusing on the ice,  and his everything that was stepping onto it.

The instant the cameras were back on the ice, Viktor ran to the kiss and cry.  He could tell Yuuri’s shoulder had a weight to them that made him wilt slightly, and he prayed that the judges did not know him as well as Viktor did. His heart beat faster as Yuuri’s arms rose, and he turned his eyes to Viktor, licking his lips,

If Yuuri didn’t take the podium, he would riot.

Viktor watched every jump and step and breath Yuuri took on the ice.  Yuuri slid off the ice and into Viktor’s arms, immediately heavy and tired.  He smiled, out of breath to the point of wheezing. Viktor held Yuuri up and walked with him to the Kiss and Cry, secretly enjoying the cameras on them.

The same reporter was back, with the camera trained on the pair.

“Yuuri Katsuki,  you’re new to the scene. Who is all-star Viktor Nikiforov to you?”

Yuuri smiled. “The most important person in the world.” He  said it without hesitation, still breathy, sweat running down the side of his face. Viktor’s heart swelled, and he turned and kiss Yuuri back. He deserved everything he gave, returned ten-fold, after all. Yuuri laughed, embarrassed, but didn’t bat him away, only squeezing his eyes close. “Vitenkaa.” He said shyly. God, would he ever be able to return what Yuuri made him feel? He stared lovingly at Yuuri, almost forgetting that the score would be reported.  He watched Yuuri squint at the far display, hugging the makkachin tissuecase close to him. He  had seen it countless times before, but it didn’t lessen his love for it, and everything about him.

It took a few seconds for it to register.  It sounded like a good score, until the commentator went on to put the placement.

Fourth.

It placed him fourth, just behind Phichit, who had skated first.  Viktor’s dream of standing beside the love of his life on the podium was shattered by a mere two numbers.

And it angered him.

Yuuri’s polite smile disappeared when he turned his eye to Viktor. “What’s wrong?” He asked, reaching up to brush Viktor’s hair out his face without a second thought.  

“I’m sorry…” Yuuri’s voice fell at Viktor’s expression, and his gaze dropped. “It wasn’t good enough…”

“Oh Yuuri…” Viktor instantly regretting letting go of himself. “Never, never. I was.. am.. I’m angry, Yuuri. You deserved to take the podium.” He reached for Yuuri, pulling him closer into a hug. “The score is pointless.”

“Not in front of the cameras.” Yuuri whispered into Viktor’s arm. He tried to pull Viktor up, but couldn’t move freely enough to swing himself up. Viktor ended up moving them both off the bench, the next competitor already forgotten.

~~

“Viktor, you need to let it go. I’m happy.” Yuuri prodded him again, but Viktor couldn’t wipe the displeasure from his face. The rest of the skaters had not failed spectacularly, despite the evil eye and curses he had wished upon them.  Yuuri held onto fourth, but did not climb any hire like Viktor prayed for. Cristophe took Silver Phichit and Phichit bronze, and Viktor couldn’t bear to wish ill will on his and Yuuri’s best friends.

“We still get to skate together.” Yuuri had done this nonstop throughout the competition, his own anxiety bubbling up. But Viktor couldn’t brush it away. Yuuri had taken the podium before, and he should have done it that day.

“Vitenka.” Yuuri said seriously, and he couldn’t ignore that. He turned to Yuuri, and looked into his eyes, now back behind his oversized glasses. “You need to focus. We’re skating together soon.”

Shame burned at the back of his throat. Here he was, stewing like a little baby, and making Yuuri worry about him, when the day before Yuuri barely dragged himself out of bed.

“I’m sorry, my Yuuri.” He said, but the bitterness didn’t fade from him. It burned his throat, boiled in his stomach and flowed through him like blood. This was not he had spent  nights dreaming of and days pulling strings and favors and making promises. This was not the fairytale he dreamed off. It had faded, tarnishing at the edges,  the corners peeling away.

“Then stop. I don’t want to remember the day I’ve been dreaming of for years as you pouting.” Yuuri’s words stung, no matter how softly he had said them.

“I’m so--.” Yuuri pressed a cold finger to his lips.  “I know.  I’m not mad.” He said, taking Viktor’s hand in his. They had changed into their exhibition skating costumes, their palms covered in matching black gloves.  His designer had been happy to make another version of the costume for his favorite season, for some reason.  He sent pictures of Yuuri, and his measurements, and the blue and purple set came back four months later. Perfect.

“Let’s go.” Yuuri said, hearing the cue that Viktor missed, his mind slipping back into the emotion that still had a twisted grip around his stomach. The staff knew of their plan, but the audience had no idea who would be joining Viktor on the ice. He met his cue on time, even though   it had only been practiced for  a week and a half. He spun slowly, arcing his arm toward the spot he knew Yuuri would sweep toward him.  Violet light flooded over them and turned the ice into some otherworldly place. Yuuri was perfect, his glasses gone, his eyes were trained on Viktor’s, warm and full of love and determination. Fuck the scores, fuck the federation, this was all that mattered anymore. He could only hear the blades carve the ice and his heart beat, as they turned together, his hands meeting Yuuri’s body as they started into the first lift.

Viktor’s eyes met with one of the judges, and they didn’t leave, the anger and bitterness he hadn’t been able to fully push back bubbling up to the service. He turned again, keeping his eyes on the judge, before moving to the next step.

His arm missed the air and hit something hard. He swung around on his skates, his heart somewhere between his toes. “Yuuri!” Any bitterness crystallized into regret. Yuuri blinked away the tears  that sprung to his eyes as blood dribbled down his nose. He smiled at him and laughed even as the tears spilled over his cheeks from the pain.   He swept his hand across Viktor’s face, cupping it tenderly, and moved into the spot where he knew they had the tandem step sequence.

He wanted to quit. Stop the show, turn off the lights and the music and cradle Yuuri until he breathed the apologies Viktor had for him. Apologies for pouting so long, for pouting on the ice, and letting his old self get in the way and distract him. Letting his old self hurt Yuuri.

The violet light turned the blood spattered on the ice into a macabre black, and Yuuri’s step sequence drew it out into spider-like lines. Yuuri pulled him through, until they finally struck the finishing pose,  Yuuri’s heart pounding enough for Viktor to feel it through his back.

“Yuuri!” He didn’t hold the pose long enough for the normal lights to return, spinning him around and catching him. Yuuri squeezed his eyes shut, dizzy, his mouth and chin covered in scarlet. The crystals glued onto his costume lost their luster under the blood that dribbled onto the front of his shirt.

It was too much.

“Oh Yuuri, I’m so sorry, I should have never..”

“Viktor, please.”

Viktor’s throat nearly closed. “Please what?”

“I’m going to ruin yours too.” He wiped off a droplet of blood just above Viktor’s own chest. “I need a tissue.”  He leaned far enough, that Viktor gave in, and went with Yuuri to the kiss and cry. Phichit was there already, with a tissue box and a handful of tissues. Yakov and his not-wife-not-ex showed up with a box of baby wipes and a mouthful of scolding as they scrubbed at their costumes. It irritated Viktor, but Yuuri merely took it, scrunching his nose and eyes shut as they scrubbed the dried blood from his cheeks. Phichit sat on the edge of the bench, his hand on the back of Yuuri’s neck, helping him lean over and forward into a second wad of tissues.

Viktor felt like throwing up.

He stayed by Yuuri’s side, until Yakov pulled him up for the medaling ceremony. The flowers didn’t seem as vibrant as the ones growing back in the Katsuki’s garden. The medal felt heavier than the many that had rested on his chest before.

It was the first time, even he, Viktor Nikiforov, the King of Faking it, could not muster a smile for the crowd.


	19. Gold

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the Kudos, favs and reviews! I've been having a hard time and they encourage me. <3
> 
> If you'd like to see lots of victurri, follow me on tumblr @creme13rulee

It took an hour to fight through the media and the fans. By the time he reached Yuuri, he was out of his costume and in a wheelchair. A new tissue box was on his lap, his fingers tangled in the soft fabric as his head lolled back in his sleep. Phichit was next to him, keeping the headphones on Yuuri’s head, blocking out the noise of the crowd.

It felt wrong.  Not the kind of wrong where it felt like everything in the world had shifted an inch to the left. Not the kind of wrong where they had a fight and left it hanging in the air without dealing with it.

The kind of wrong where Viktor should have been the one taking care of Yuuri. Instead, he had a heavy medal hanging on his chest over an even heavier heart.   He had worked so hard to make sure Yuuri got to fulfill his dream of skating on the same ice as his childhood idol that he let his mind get clouded with anger.  The anger at the judges had solidified, lashing out and hurting Yuuri.  The fact that Yuuri didn’t get mad or spill a single tear, made it sting a hundred times worse.  This was supposed to be a high point in Yuuri’s life, a taste of a life he could have if he kept fighting… not another cross to bear.

Phichit looked up from his phone, finally noticing Viktor’s presence.  Viktor expected him to recoil, or chastise him for hurting Yuuri, but he just stood up. “He’s a little woozy.” He said, gesturing to the now empty spot besides Yuuri. Viktor immediately sat, stroking the side of Yuuri’s face. His hair had grown longer since  they had first met, and it was now curling around his ears.  He tucked a curl behind his ear, pink from the chill of the rink. It probably wasn’t a good idea to keep him in the cold, but Viktor knew that Yuuri would have refused to leave. His eyes opened at the touch, blinking slowly.  Viktor had stared at the dark lashes, admired them against Yuuri’s cheeks before, but this time in particular made his heart ache.

“Vik…Vitenka.” He whispered sleepily, his voice thick. His hands left the tissue box in his lap and went up, the weight of the medal lifting off of his chest. He stared at Yuuri kissed it, and then as Yuuri  smiled as he pressed a kiss to Yuuri’s cheek.

“Congratulations, Vitenka.” Yuuri turned pink at Phichit’s excited clapping. He must have forgotten the  Russian  lessons back in Detroit, or maybe he was more obvious than he thought.

“How are you feeling?” Viktor looked down  Yuuri’s chest, to the tissue box, and to his prosthetic-less legs.

“Gold.” Yuuri said simply, setting the medal back onto Viktor’s chest with a forced smile. “Maybe a little hungry.” He rubbed the sleep from his eyes, swallowing again.

“Yuuri.” Viktor said, his voice  becoming thick as well. Yuuri looked up at him, the smile replaced with  confusion at the Russian’s unreadable expression.

“Yes?” He said uneasily, watching as Viktor slipped the ribbon over his head and held the ribbon out to Yuuri. “That’s yours, Viktor…” He sounded uncomfortable, looking from the medal, up to Viktor’s face, and back.

“I know. But it is the only round and gold thing I have right now. “ He melted at Yuuri’s incredulous expression. “Yuuri, will you marry me?”

Phichit made the sound of a dying raccoon.  Yuuri choked.

“You… what?” He stuttered, nervously picking at the tissue box cover. “Don’t joke like that, Viktor…” His voice wavered.

Viktor knew that it wasn’t meant to be a knife slid perfectly into his heart, and that it was Yuuri’s own monster speaking… but it still hurt.

“I know that it comes out of the blue, and that it is strange when there’s no name to what we are, Yuuri… but please…” Viktor swallowed back the emotions pushing at the back of his throat. “Answer me.”

Yuuri stared  wide-eyed at his lap, tears threatening to spill over his red cheeks.

“O…okay.” He bowed his head as  Viktor slipped the medal over his neck. “I mean—yes—“ Viktor cut him off with a kiss, much softer than he expected from such an emotionally charged moment.

The camera-click sound effect broke the silence.

“Not for Instagram!” Yuuri squeaked, waving his hand as Phichit clapped vigorously.

They called a taxi , returning to the hotel for a much needed break.  Yuuri fell asleep before room service arrived with an early dinner, the gold medal still resting  over his heart.

Viktor debated waking Yuuri up, enjoying watching sleeping beauty breathe and snuggle into their shared bed.  But logic took over, and Viktor didn’t dare risk letting Yuuri go any longer without any food in his already weakened body. He leaned over, kissing his spur-of-the-moment fiancée on his lips. He relished the Yuuri that existed momentarily before his brain took over, the  Yuuri that kissed him back automatically.

However sweet he thought Yuuri, it didn’t transfer. He tasted metallic, as if he had kissed a metal instead of his fiancé. It didn’t sit well, but the thought was banished the moment Yuuri opened his eyes.

“Are we late?” He yawned, before setting his eyes on the tray set on the end of the bed. It wasn’t hot pot, but it what the hotel had.  Viktor had ordered the fruit sherbet just in case.

“No. Another two hours or so.” Viktor said softly, moving the tray closer to Yuuri. He poked around at the food, before settling on a bowl of plain rice.

“Are you still….?” Viktor  trailed off, not wanting to finish the sentence. Yuuri didn’t answer,  adding a pile of bok choy and marinated meat on top of the rice. He ate slowly, but still struggled to eat. Half of the bowl remained when he set it down, sinking back into the pile of pillows set against the headboard. Yuuri thought Viktor would let it slide again, closing his eyes, before he felt cold metal pressed against his bottom lip.

“Vi—“ the spoon slid into his mouth as soon as he opened it, and he choked back the sherbet.  He opened his eyes, narrowing them, but Viktor only smiled sweetly.

“Open up.” He sang, the smile cracking at the corners, scooping up more sherbet.

“I’m not that tired.” Yuuri mumbled, lifting his hands  to take the spoon. Viktor scooted, almost too close, reminding Yuuri of his missing limbs and the phantom ache that had plagued him all day. “Viktor,” Yuuri huffed, leaning forward and taking the next bite of sherbet before it melted onto the sheets.

“It’s not funny.” Yuuri  pouted, Viktor stabbing the rest of the sherbet with the spoon.

“No, it’s not. You said you wouldn’t compete if you weren’t up to it.” Viktor said coldly.

“I did. I was. Up for it.” Yuuri’s fingers tightened around the sheets, his anxiety beating against the back of his throat and the pit of his stomach.

“Eat. Please.” Viktor held out the spoon, holding it delicately enough that Yuuri could take it from him. He breathed out a long sigh of relief. The ice cream wasn’t so bad, after all. It didn’t help for long, but it disguised the thick copper taste that coated his throat better than the rice.

Finishing the  sherbet seemed to satisfy Viktor enough to ease off of nursing  his brand new fiancé. They laid on bed,  Viktor playing with Yuuri’s hair as he caught up on social media.

“Mmmm. Don’t you want a shower?” Viktor mused, Yuuri immediately shrinking away. Damn. Way to go, Viktor. “I just remembered the hair wax we put in this morning…” He added, trying to smooth over the faux pas.

“Yeah… but I haven’t felt like getting back into my legs just to take them off again.” Yuuri said in a small voice.

“I could carry you.” Viktor smiled, tracing a circle on Yuuri’s cheek. He frowned, batting his hand away.

“Please, Viktor. I’m not a baby. I’m just tired.”

Viktor’s smile dissolved. He could feel the soil pile up behind him as he dug himself a deeper and deeper hole.

 “I didn’t mean  it like that. I was thinking, we could shower together..”

Finally, that familiar blush was back.

“What Yuuri, is that too much?” He teased, moving to trace a finger around the medal around Yuuri’s neck. “We’ve bathed together so many times, what’s the difference?”

“Those were hot springs..” Yuuri muttered. “This is a hotel room, and I could do it myself.. I’d just rather…”

“Rather what?” His eyes shone and his smile curled into a mischievous one. He waggled his eyebrows at Yuuri, who sighed.

“Stay in bed with you.” He  mumbled, hiding his face.

“And?” Viktor pushed closer to Yuuri, hovering over him.

“ And… celebrate?” Yuuri dropped his hands, reaching deep inside himself for the Eros he’d brought out on the ice earlier that day. He lifted the gold medal  from his chest and pressed it against Viktor’s lips, lifting his head and pressing his own lips to the other side.

Mission accomplished. Viktor melted, collapsing against Yuuri and cuddling into him, hugging him tightly.

They pulled apart only when the reminder alarm rang on Yuuri’s phone. Viktor’s nursing tendencies did not stray far. He helped Yuuri slide on the socks and prosthetic liner, resting his hand on Yuuri’s thigh a second longer than he needed to. Viktor watched Yuuri, his heart full, as he kept the medal on even after pulling off the rest of his clothes to scrub his face clean and freshen up. He was so enamored with it, he had no peace of mind to worry about Yuuri’s fidgeting and slowness.  He was nearly humming to himself, leaving the bathroom to get dressed, when Yuuri finally reached for his toothbrush. He brushed, rinsing his mouth, before looking heavenward and trying to gargle as quietly as he could. He watched the door, before spitting into the sink, turning on the faucet before the  thick red liquid could cling to the porcelain for long.

* * *

 

“Why aren’t you wearing it?” Viktor whined, when Yuuri finally had the new suit Viktor had bought him buttoned properly.

“There’s no way, Viktor!” Yuuri turned tomato red. “I’m not wearing your gold medal to the gala.  People would think I’m crazy!”

“Then I’ll tell them it’s for our engagement.” Viktor crossed his arms. “How else will the world know?”

“Usually by rings.” Yuuri muttered under his breath, playing with the ribbon in his fingers.

“Then I’ll find someone to melt it—“

“Viktor!” Yuuri squeaked, then cleared his throat. “Phichit knows, and that’s all that matters right now.”

“What about your family?” Viktor sounded a little wounded. Yuuri hesitated.

“Mari-nee-chan would just say she called it, and my parents wouldn’t understand.”

“Understand what? They’ve been okay with what’s been going on for the past year. Are you saying they wouldn’t approve?” Viktor’s heart started stuttering, beating fast between skipping a beat.

 

Yuuri rubbed his thumb against the round edge of the medal. “They  don’t understand what it means to me. “ He said quietly. “I want to tell them in person. “

 “Yuuri, why do you do this to me?” Viktor sighed, dragging his hands down  Yuuri’s body as he sunk to  his knees.

“Do what to you?” Yuuri asked, the emotion of the moment dispersed by the placement of Viktor’s hand. “Vitenka, we’re going to be late. “ He whined, setting the medal down on the nightstand. "Let's go."


	20. Cold

Christophe met them in the lobby of the hotel were the gala was being held. “Adorable.”  He teased, greeting Yuuri was a wandering hand , smoothing  his tie down. Yuuri in blue, Viktor in purple, it had been Yuuri’s one input when he had been dragged to get a new suit. It had felt stupid to him--  but at the time they had just put in the order for their duet costumes. It was a small little gesture,  casual enough to be discreet, but at the same time always reminding Yuuri of what it meant to him. Christophe, apparently, was sharp enough to see it within a few seconds. Yuuri flushed as Christophe greeted Viktor, the two casually kissing each other on the cheeks.  Had he been so far from his time in Detroit that PDA shocked him again? Or was it because it was Viktor?

Whatever it was, he had to shake it off.  He slipped his hand out of Viktor’s, going to find Phichit. He knew where he would be—wherever the best vlogging background would be—and today it was in front of the  champagne glass tower just inside the ballroom.

“Yuuri!” Phichit gasped, grabbing him in a friendly neck hold hug and pulling him into view. “I’m livestreaming. Say hi internet!”

“Hi internet!” Yuuri smiled awkwardly, finding his tenuous balance again. “Don’t forget this, Phichit.” He held up the medal Phichit was still wearing until it appeared in-frame. The text comments scrolling at the bottom was going too fast, the heaviness in his head blurring it before he could parse it. Phichit could, however, bursting out laughing.

“Internet wants to see your Eros face! What do you say Yuuri? For your fans?” He elbowed his best friend as Yuuri buried his face in his hands.

“Only for—Phichit, stop,” Yuuri laughed at his waggling eyebrows. “Only for the shot at a medal.”

“And Viktor Nikiforov.” Phichit slipped in, winking at the camera.  Yuuri praised every higher power in the world that Viktor’s foray into YouTube ended at poodle videos, and that he would never see Phichit’s channel. Especially the beginning videos back in their dorm room.

“How excited are you for the next Cup?” Phichit sounded less camera-ready and more conversational, though the camera didn’t go away. “Huh?”  Yuuri focused back on his friends real face, and not the one on the screen.

“ The next cup. You still qualified for the next event with all the points you got.”

Oh.

Yuuri had been so preoccupied with making it through the day, he hadn’t thought to see where exactly he placed in relation to the other competitors.

Going through the grand prix wasn’t the end goal. Just today he had everything he wanted—skating on the same ice with Viktor. He had competed against his childhood idol, and although there wasn’t a medal of his own over his heart, he had still won. Viktor had reached the podium (unsurprisingly) and Yuuri got to skate with him as well as against him.

He only had to make it through the gala. Make it through the gala, and it would be a perfect day. Perfect memory— one so perfect that anything that happened after it would never tarnish it.  The thought that there was other international events—that Yuuri /was/ representing Japan now, hadn’t crossed his mind. The words of Yuuri’s old Hall Health therapist’s words had stayed with him years later. Focusing on  a problem gave it its teeth—if you didn’t think about it, it wouldn’t become the  looming monster over your head.

So what if that was about exam anxiety?

Ignoring the blood trickling down the back of his throat had kept the problem toothless. It kept Viktor’s sweet heart-shaped smile on his face and his body close to Yuuri’s.  

He wasn’t being foolish. He had a plan. He would wait until Viktor passed out drunk on champagne. He would trip over his own feet on the way to the bathroom and face-plant just so. Then, he could cough freely and cause just enough drama to get to a hospital without Viktor thinking it had anything to do with him.

“Oh, well, I’ll be happy to skate with Viktor again. And you!” Yuuri smiled sweetly, somehow knowing that at least 50 girls out there were frantically taking screenshots of the livestream.

Yuuri stayed with Phichit, partly for the comfort of staying with someone he knew, and partially to wait for Celestino to circle around. He hadn’t talked to him beyond the occasional new year’s card he sent in return for Celestino’s Christmas family letter.   He had honestly had given up on the idea of seeing his old coach again. He had left Detroit rather suddenly, and until Viktor had showed up in Hasetsu, getting involved in the international circuit had been a pipe dream.  His coach had been a part of his life before the diagnosis and the surgeries and the end of his dream. But now, in this shiny bright new word where the man he had stared at in magazines was staring at _him_ … it seemed like touching that old life and making peace with it was possible.

Even with Viktor away, somewhere in the room with the press and sponsors and his Russian skating family.

“To Detroit!”  The coach had toasted, when he had finally gathered Yuuri, Phichit, and what looked like his new pupil in one corner of the room. Yuuri slowly tilted the lip of the glass to his own.  There was nowhere to set it down, no reason to slip out. He drank it in the biggest gulp he could manage, the bitterness of the alcohol and the bubbles of the champagne making him instantly regret it.  It burned the back of his throat and his stomach lurched just as a familiar hand fit into the small of his back.

“Yuuri,” He cooed, in that stupid lovey-dovey way, going to kiss him. Viktor paused as he saw his fiancé’s face twist uncomfortably. Not the usual reaction, even from his darling ball of anxiety.

“Yuuri? I’ve been looking for you,” He felt something akin to a kitten sneeze, Yuuri holding back some violent and unexplainable reaction to Viktor’s  touch. “Did I…?”

The  conversation at the circle stopped, as if everyone sensed it. Yuuri leaned into Viktor, before the cough beat itself out of his chest.  Yuuri pressed a hand to his mouth, and Phichit took the glass out of his hand, but it was too late.

“Shorry.” Yuuri croaked, tears springing to his eyes.

He hadn’t been able to make it through the whole night. He didn’t even get a chance to go around, arm and arm with Viktor.

“Sorry…?” Viktor bent over, his hands still all over Yuuri. It was hard to tell what he was saying  with his hands pressed to his mouth and nose. “What for?”

Yuuri slowly peeled his  fingers from his face. It looked just as thick as it felt, the blood coating his palms and  lips. The pressure from holding it back had forced some of it up through his nose, but even a drop of blood would have had Viktor in a fit.

“I’m going to be sick.” Yuuri moaned, the bubbles winning in the battle.

“Oh God,  Yuuri!” Viktor couldn’t take his eyed off of his hands and the color staining them. He didn’t have to see what spilled from Yuuri’s mouth to know from the murmur of the crowd that something was Very Wrong.

He was useless.  So stupidly useless.  He couldn’t let go of Yuuri, so he let Chris and Phichit push and tug him into the bathroom. No one bothered with pulling off his prosthetics to make it easier.  Hotel workers and passersby winced as Yuuri’s ankles awkwardly poked out and banged loudly against doorways. They pushed into the blindingly white bathroom. It felt like another world altogether, completely different from the golden art noveau  wallpaper and ornate rose printed carpeting of the gala ballroom.

“I can walk.” He said meekly, a warm cheek against Viktor’s neck. They waited, sitting in a stall together, but the immediate worry seemed to pass: Yuuri’s stomach settled. Phichit went back to report to Celestino, and find Guang-hong, who knew this part of China better than anyone.

“You can do a lot of things.” Viktor said flatly, unable to pull himself away from Yuuri. He half-carried him to the sink, washing his hands for him. There was no helping his clothes, or his still trickling nose. Yuuri let him, watching Viktor’s pale hands move over his own and scrub the blood off.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”  Viktor’s voice was even and cold, it was hard to remember how good of an actor he was. “I would have never brought you out—“

“Exactly.” Yuuri interrupted. The last thing he wanted was the lecture from Viktor. Viktor was innocent in this, not an expert like his parents. He could still be spared the messy mistakes and hard hospital visits.

At least, for one night. “I felt fine.”

“No you didn’t.” Viktor’s tone was harsh, but his hands were gentle as he wet paper towels and washed Yuuri’s face. He couldn’t bear to see their reflection in the brightly lit mirror or the reddish water in the sink basin.

“Okay. I didn’t. “ Yuuri could feel shame set fire to his cheeks and the rest of him.

“You are the last person in the world I want to hurt, Yuuri.” Viktor said softly, dropping another towel into the trash can.

Yuuri’s worst fears had come to life.

“It has nothing to do with you, Viktor.” Yuuri squirmed inadvertently, pulling his hands from the water.

“It has everything to do with me.” Viktor said, his voice stronger and firmer and colder than ever before. “I brought you to the competition, I  brought you onto the plane here, I am the one who made you bleed.” The words tumbled out of his mouth, bitter on his tongue. “I’m the reason you’re pushing through and hurting yourself.” 

It wasn’t helping either of them that tears were starting to spill down Yuuri’s cheeks.

“You’re talking like I’m a puppet! I’m not! I want to be here, Viktor! I want to be here!” Yuuri choked out the words, slamming his palms onto the too-white countertop. “I wanted this more than anything! I’ve wanted it for years and years and I thought that it would never happen when they took my legs. And now I have the chance, I’m not going to let anything get in the way again!”  There was nothing more he wanted to do than grab Viktor and bury his face in his chest, but the tears on his cheeks and the blood and the ringing in his ears kept him from that.

“You didn’t even get a medal. I pushed you so hard and the judges are so stuck up that—“Viktor let the vitriol that had piled up in the back of his mind leak out before he stopped, Yuuri’s wet finger pressing to his lips.

“This is about the medal?” His voice was even, and those beautiful, soft brown eyes were wide, staring at him, somehow sparkling with tears that clung to him. Viktor would find even Yuuri’s ugliest moments beautiful, especially when his love and life was staring at him.

“You should have placed.” Viktor continued seriously, before Yuuri pressed his hand against his mouth again.

“Viktor, were you mad at the judges this whole time?” Viktor nodded firmly, keeping quiet, lest Yuuri press his whole hand against his mouth.

He laughed, light and unbelieving, his expression not matching the condition his face was in.

“Viktor, you don’t have to get a medal to make the event worth it.” Viktor looked insulted, but Yuuri didn’t notice. He closed his eyes, carefully resting his cheek against Viktor’s shoulder. “I got what I wanted. What I dreamed of for years. I skated on the same ice as you.  I just wanted to make it perfect.”

He hated and loved the fact that Yuuri wasn’t mad—that he wasn’t selfish.  He got what he wanted, and had pushed himself so long to make it perfect. Viktor squeezed him close, spinning him around. Yuuri laughed, his feet dragging on the ground clumsily, his hand pressing into Viktor’s shoulder.

“I love you, my Yuuri… Yuuri?” Viktor relaxed his grip, before realizing Yuuri had gone limp in his arms.

The reality of the day had sunk back in—why he had sent for Guang-hong, and why Yuuri had been sick. Something was wrong, and had been wrong for hours, and it was catching up with them.

His lips and the thin and soft skin around his eyes were bluish and pale. His fingers, long removed from the water  were cold. 

They needed to go to the hospital.


	21. Althea

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SURPRISE! My internship has ended so I had time to write the next chapter.
> 
> Thank you so so so much for all the comments and kudos. The last chapter I posted had the most reviews in the shortest time period ever. It really motivates and encourages me. I've been having a really hard time lately, and YOI has helped.  
> That being said....  
> Prepare tissues.

He knew exactly how it would go.

He would feel like a shell, empty and scraped clean until everything hurt. It had haunted other dreams before. It was just today that the timing of his subconscious and his psyche teamed up to beat him to the ground. His own mind was his own enemy. His memories and his fears would stir up into the worst poison.

It started with Makkachin’s sad, knowing eyes. Makkachin would stare at him, silently asking  a question Viktor didn’t want to answer.  Then Makka would join Vicchan on the front porch. When it got dark, they would both curl up on Yuuri’s bed, waiting for him. This would keep happening, assumedly. His dreams would go through the motions, the faces of Yuuri’s family reflecting the ones he had seen in his own family years ago.

Before, it never lasted long enough, never went beyond the terrifyingly real wrong feeling that Yuuri was irrevocably gone. It had never been more graphic than a lonely unmoved toothbrush and the raw, empty feeling that pushed him awake.  He had always pushed himself awake, padding down the hall or turning in bed, not even trusting his own eyes. He would place a hand under Yuuri’s nose, placing a gentle hand on his chest.  By the time the sun rose, and Yuuri after it, the anxiety would have burnt out.

Today, his subconscious had another idea. Today, it was ice castle. Yuuri was in his usual practice outfit, his hair soft and loose. They practiced their duet, but with each spin, Yuuri changed. Blood would coat his face and his shirt. He’d flip from healthy to bloody and blue, back and forth with each maneuver. His expression didn’t change, but his condition worsened with each turn. When it came for Yuuri to lift him, Viktor could only see the macabre spirograph of the blood spin into a web above the ice.

He would bury Yuuri on a bed of althea blossoms, the blossoms frozen solid by the ice that never left his dreams.

Logically, he knew that his family would take charge, and he would slowly drift out of Hasetsu and the remnants of Yuuri’s world once  Yuuri left it. Until that afternoon, Yuuri and Viktor had nothing but a tenuous relationship, as undefined  and vague as it was passionate. But logic wasn’t in control, and it never had been.

The image of Yuuri laying amongst the pink flowers shook, until the barrier between consciousness broke like an old bubble.

“He’s about to wake up from surgery.” Phichit said quietly, waiting until Viktor opened his eyes and looked  up at him.  His back hurt from the awkward waiting room chair and the accidental nap he had taken to.

“Surgery?” It took a few seconds for reality to settle itself in, and the anxiety to settle back into his stomach.

That’s right. Yuuri had passed out, just as Phichit came to guide them to the ambulance.  Yuuri had woken up as Viktor carried him into the back of the vehicle, his nose wrinkling in confusion at the flashing bright lights. A crowd of international coaches saw them off, Guang-Hong’s coach talking to the paramedics.  The party unofficially over, they were taken to the largest hospital, with English speaking staff.  Phichit stayed behind, Yuuri’s passport and room card cradled in his arms, his shoulders heavy with Celestino’s hand.

Viktor had felt out of place, folded into a corner, feeling too tall, too useless. Yuuri calmly told them his medical history, carefully reciting the complicated English name of his recent diagnosis. They immediately hooked him up to an IV, and Yuuri didn’t even blink that the needle that make Viktor’s skin crawl. He sat calmly on the stretcher, his fingers loosely wrapped around Viktor’s and his voice soft.

He knew it was for the best, but his stomach twisted when they called ahead to the hospital. Viktor had held on until triage, his fingers falling from Yuuri’s as they wheeled him deeper into the hospital.

Chris and Phichit joined him in the waiting room within the hour. Phichit took his phone and plugged it in along side Yuuri’s, and Chris sat next to him with a waxy paper cup of water. No one said anything, but Viktor preferred it that way.

It was past 3 am— Viktor didn’t recall when they had entered—did the surgery go wrong? Had Yuuri gone through complications, bled out on the table without Viktor knowing?

“Yeah. They patched up the part of his face that was bleeding. They think Yuuri reacted badly to his chemotherapy, and was missing a lot of clotting factor.  He was kind of like a faucet.” The three grimaced at the thought.

“But, for now, it sounds good.” Chris added, awkwardly patting Viktor on the back. “He improved as soon as he got a transfusion.”

“Where is he?” He scanned the room, but the only screen was full of color-coded numbers and symbols he couldn’t begin to decipher.

“We have to wait for the… nevermind.” The doors swung open to a doctor that looked too young to be smart enough to take care of his Yuuri.

“Viktor Nikiforov?” The doctor came up, all eyes on him. “Mr. Katsuki’s coach?”

“Fiancé.” Viktor blurted. Chris’ lips parted in surprise, but he didn’t push it.

The doctor laughed. A small, private one, that thankfully didn’t seem at their expense.

“It makes sense.  Mr. Katsuki is ready for you.” Viktor’s heart swelled. Was Yuuri calling for him ? Was that the first word  he uttered coming out from anesthesia?

“He’s in Recovery 2. Right this way.” He went back into the double doors, this time walking further into the labyrinth.

It was barely a room- more like a curtained partition—but it beat anything Viktor’s subconscious could give him. Inside it was Yuuri, hooked up to more wires and tubes  Viktor had the taste for.

His hand glowed with the red oxygen monitor clip, and his IV slowly dripped saline and the remainder of the transfusion into his veins. A white tube snaked down a nostril, taped to his beautiful pale skin. His eyes fluttered open at the rustling of the curtain pushed aside, and on reflex he rolled his arm with the IV over for better reflex.

“Yuuri!” Viktor grabbed his hand, hoping he didn’t jostle the monitor too much. “Oh Yuuri… How are you feeling?”

“Viktor,” Yuuri cooed, his voice hoarse. He smiled softly, moving his fingers against Viktor’s skin.

“How do you feel, Yuuri?” Viktor said forcefully, watching Yuuri’s heavy lidded eyes.

“Great. And bad. What did I do?”

Viktor wanted to laugh and cry. Crying felt more appropriate next to all the white and sickly yellow décor and strange smells and incessant sounds.

“Champange, I hear.” Viktor blinked away tears. He didn’t do this. Not in public. He didn’t cry at all, and certainly not when he was supposed to be happy.

“That all?” He said softly, his eyelids heavy. Viktor lifted his other hand to smooth Yuuri’s hair back. It was still  sticky from the wax he had put in it earlier that afternoon. Parts of it were soft, but the best part was the warmth that radiated off of him.  It had been days since he had been this warm.

They moved Yuuri to a more permanent room, Phichit and Chris joining them. News had obviously made it home, with no help from Viktor, as the first thing Phichit did was Yuuri’s notification-ridden phone. A quick facetime call home to his parents in sheepish Japanese, and Yuuri was nodding off again.

“You should go back to your hotel room.” Phichit said softly after the second time Yuuri drifted off, his phone dropped onto his chest.

“I can’t. Yuuri’s here.” Viktor said it without hesitation. The nurse had barely been in—the doctor seemed relaxed. But now was not the time to back off on watching Yuuri. He had to be more attentive than ever before.

“Yuuri’s asleep. And well…” Phichit made a face. “It doesn’t look good, you know.” He made a vague gesture at Viktor’s body.  Before he could let the insult sting and bristle, Viktor looked down.

The Versace suit was stained with smears of Yuuri’s blood. There was a particularly strong splotch on his shoulder where his cheek had rested as Viktor carried him out to the ambulance.

It wasn’t the price tag of the ruined suit that bothered Viktor. It was that he was wearing part of a ruined Yuuri. One Yuuri had hidden—and too well. It reminded him of Yuuri’s health—or lack of it, and of his own failure. He had tried so hard to do it right, and open up. Right under his nose, Yuuri had gotten so bad that it was now an international spectacle.

Would Yuuri be remembered for his skating, or his fall at the gala?

“I can change into something else.”  It was not the best option, but he’d be damned if he left  Yuuri to his own devices ever again.

“Yuuri hates vigils. And scrubs. He’d rather you sleep in a real bed and come back with real pants for him.” Phichit crossed his arms, saying the words with such finality Viktor knew his advice came from past experience.

Viktor frowned, but went with it. He leaned down, kissing the crown  of Yuuri’s head, cradling his chin in his hand tenderly.

“Vitenka..” Yuuri murmured sleepily, not bothering to open his eyes.

“I’m going to the hotel. I’ll be back soon.”

“Mmmm.  Can I ask you for something?”

Viktor was dreading this. He did not know where they were, or where to get ice cream. Even if he could by it, Yuuri had a feeding tube for a reason.  For reasons beyond the focus Viktor had at the moment, the doctors decided to be extra careful with Yuuri’s healing. They were sure it would clot , but they decided to take extra cautions. Special measures for special cases.

“Anything.” Viktor said softly, hating that he couldn’t keep his promise.

“Find us rings, okay? They didn’t believe me.” His soft lips curled into a smile at the excited clapping from his best friend.

“Right away. Sweet dreams, sleeping beauty.” Viktor said tenderly, leaning down to kiss him. Yuuri playfully swatted at his face, the oxygen reader beeping at its momentary movement.


	22. Run

Viktor returned to their hotel room after a short shared taxi ride. Back in the dark room, he suddenly felt lost. It  felt more empty than before, despite the two suitcases and dress backs haphazardly thrown in a corner. The dishes had been cleared away, the sheets tucked back in, pillow mints set on top.

It had been a while since he had slept alone during skating season.  When he was in Juniors, he’d be in the same room as Yakov, under his constant scrutiny. After his debut, he had smoozed enough with Yakov to let him plan a stay with whatever competitor he liked best at the competition. Nine times out of ten (usually depending on assignments) it had been Cristophe.  But they had parted in the lobby, and it would be selfish to call him now. He slipped off his shoes, a habit drilled into him over months in Hasetsu.  He padded over to his suitcase,  before forgetting it and pulling a sweater from Yuuri’s suitcase.

Wearing it would be a bad idea—stretching out clothes when there was a limited choice of them on a trip would send up his stress levels up in two seconds flat. So he begrudgingly slid it over Yuuri’s pillow, before pulling off his own clothes. He laid on the too-big bed, staring at the frustratingly white ceiling, willing sleep to come back to him as easily as it had in the waiting room. He hugged the Yuuri-pillow to his chest, heaving a sigh just as his phone rang.

Oh god. Yuuri.

Had he taken a turn for the worst in the twenty minutes Viktor was in the cab? Was his stroke of luck continuing to curse him?

“Hello?” Viktor’s throat felt like it was about to close and his voice was a little high, betraying him more than he wanted to.

“Viktor? Are you okay?” His voice was soft and rough, almost a whisper. But it was him.

“Of course—are you? Are you okay?” He could no longer hold it down and pretend to be calm.

“I am. I promise, really.” A moment of silence fell between them. “You know… this isn’t your fault, Vitya.” Yuuri said softly, breaking the silence.

“Vitenka.”

“Oh, sorry... my Vitenka.” Yuuri laughed nervously. “You know, right? “ There was more silence.

“I reacted badly to the chemotherapy… and… I didn’t want to ruin this weekend. I didn’t mean to make a big spectacle.”

“You should be sleeping, Yuuri.” Viktor said, his throat thick with emotion. Of course Yuuri would stay up worrying about everything but himself.

“Yeah…well… Are you on wifi?”

Viktor lifted his phone from his ear. “Mmm. Why?”

“Can you stay on the phone with me? You don’t need to say anything… or stay awake.” Viktor could feel the fretting through the phone line.

“Sleep together long distance? Of course.”

“You don’t think its stupid? You don’t have to, it would just be nice...”

“I think its just what I need, Zvezda.” Viktor didn’t bother to stifle back a yawn.

“Okay. Goodnight, Vitenka.”

“Goodnight ,my star.”

 

Store hours kept Viktor from going back to Yuuri until it was past 11 in the morning. The concierge had been the best he’d seen, giving him several options for jewelry stores and calling a cab for him. He left with a list of addresses in neat Chinese script, and found exactly what he needed in the first store. Round, gold, and with a shine that demanded all the light in the room. It was the first time in a long time that something gold had made his heart skip a beat. Viktor praised the patron gods of Amex—the price in yuan was irrelevant, if he even bothered to look up the conversion rate. It was perfect.

When he arrived at the hospital room, it was hard to find Yuuri amongst the flowers and balloons. There were bouquets as big as Makkachin, baskets of fruit and cases of juice bottles. Yuuri was halfway hidden behind a bouquet of sunflowers, hugging an oversized hamster plush.

“Yuuri~ Good morning.” Viktor chirped, in a much lighter mood than he had been the morning before. Yuuri was alive and healthier in the care of doctors—his star would be shining this morning, no doubt.

Yuuri looked up, rubbing his raw, red cheeks of the tears. He smiled shyly, a few of the tubes gone, and color back in his face.

“Yuuri, whats wrong? Allergies?” Yuuri only shook his head, and he knew. Viktor set down his bag, climbing into the bed with Yuuri. He instantly melted into Viktor, his head resting against Viktor’s chest. His phone was on the bedside tray, open to some article that Viktor could guess was about the rough ending to last nights gala.

“Do not worry, Yuuri. They will forget about it tomorrow, and it is obvious people care.” Viktor held up a hand, sweeping it grandly across the room full of gifts. Yuuri’s chest shuddered.

“My parents want me to quit.”  Yuuri’s voice came after a few minutes of them sitting together in silence.

“That’s ridiculous!” Viktor felt ready to launch into an angry rant, but the words dissolved when Yuuri shook his head.

“It isn’t. If you weren’t sponsoring me, I would be dropped. No one would want me to compete again. I’m a liability.”

“A what?” Yuuri’s years in Detroit were starting to catch up to Viktor.

“I’m a risk. Why should I skate if I could pass out on the ice? Press will be there, and it won’t be a good story.” A warm tear soaked into Viktor’s shirt.

“Nonsense. You said it last night… You reacted badly to your chemotherapy. We find you a new treatment, and we space it right. Problem solved.”

Yuuri worried his bottom lip. “I wish it was that easy… but my parents are right. If I keep placing, that would mean putting off treatment for another two months.”

“So? What can happen in two months?” Viktor still succeeded in sounding flippant and worry-free, but he could feel his chest tightening and squeezing his heart. He watched as Yuuri pressed into him, pushing the sheets off, lifting what remained of his legs above the sheets. The movement was message enough, but of course Yuuri still worried.  The hamster plush fell to the floor as Yuuri ran his hands over his legs and the faded scar at the end of them. “I tried to ignore the pain in my ankles for two months. I stopped going to practice. I got a job to help my family at home, and one day it stopped hurting when I walked, and started hurting all the time. Phichit carried my piggy back to hall health, and called Celestino when they couldn’t figure it out.” Tears fell freely from his eyes, faster than before, but he managed to keep his voice even. “Celestino left his family and had to tell my parents about the cancer and  the surgery.”

“It all ended well, didn’t it?” Viktor knew it hadn’t. Yuuri had been on track to compete with Viktor, and the cancer had taken away his lifelong dream.  Yuuri had reached it only a few days ago, but it was hard to make up for years.

“I’m tired of being the burden, Viktor. Every choice  I’ve made has only ended up hurting everyone I’ve tried to protect.” His whole body shuddered with a choked back sob. “I need to start listening, but it’s so hard.”

Viktor smoothed his fingers through Yuuri’s hair.  He let his hand brush Yuuri’s warm whorl of his ear, before running a thumb against his cheek to catch a tear. The sobs and hyperventilating that wracked Yuuri’s chest calmed. He didn’t beg for an answer, which made Viktor hurt and love him all the more.

Viktor had lovers in the past. They came through his life like a storm, rattling the windows and leaving a mess in their wake. Those he didn’t see in the occasional competition ended up at his door, banging and begging for a reason why he disappeared. Why didn’t he have the time to spend with them—why was he so distant?  But Yuuri didn’t ask any questions. When Viktor needed a moment on the ice, Yuuri was there, practicing his step sequence or a jump on the other side of the rink.  That first night they had dinner together in Sochi, he didn’t ask for an autograph or the reason why his skate choreography was  so sad.

Yuuri had just loved him.

Now, Viktor had to ask… when had Yuuri lived for himself, and not for the sake of others?

“I will find a way, Yuuri.” Viktor said softly. He rested his hand in Yuuri’s lap, and Yuuri automatically intertwined his fingers into Viktor’s. “We can do this without being reckless. We can get you better without giving up your dreams for someone else. I promise.”

“You’re always so positive.” Yuuri murmured, his skin glowing golden with the sunlight that reflected off the sunflowers and many bouquets filling the room. Viktor laughed, short and bitter. He was anything but.  Running away from something when it turned sour did not make him positive. It made him scared.

This time, he wouldn’t run away.


	23. Ten

Viktor hadn’t posted to social media in 8 days and some odd hours. It wasn’t that the sky was a flat, slate gray and the air heavy and cool and a little oppressing. There wasn’t a lack of anything to do—there was some Japanese holiday going on, and Yuutopia was full of tourists and locals.  
It was the media.  
If he went into his tags, he had to face the pictures. The magazine cover of him and Yuuri. Not the pair skate shot he dreamed of, but Yuuri covered in blood, and his blood on Viktor. Magazines had contacted him, and he told them all the same thing: Yuuri had left the hospital two days later, and they returned to Japan shortly after.  
It was Yuuri.  
The night before the flight home, Viktor caught Yuuri booking the tickets to the Rostelcom cup. Two seats, coach class. Viktor would have paid for first class, but he had already attempted convincing Yuuri without any success. Yuuri booked it without saying a word, squinting at the screen in the dark room, his head resting against Viktor’s bare shoulder.  
“Yuuri, the cheaper flights are nonrefundable.” Viktor said, the weight of the issue pressing behind the words.  
“I know.” Yuuri didn’t look at him.  
It took five steps past the threshold of Yuutopia before the tears and yelling came. Viktor’s heart ached—whatever they were saying, it was too fast and too thickly accented him to parse any of it. Viktor could only watch as Hiroko ran up to Yuuri and pulled him into her chest, hugging him as if he would disappear if she let go.  
Lilia had tried to step into his mother’s shoes when she passed, but it had been too late. She had been too sick, and Lilia and Yakov had been themselves too long. She had been the teacher for so many years, that it had been easy to shrink away from the arms that had reached out to him. It was easier to do that with the other love in his life.  
After Yuuri wriggled out of his mother’s grip, Hiroko had moved to Viktor. She said something Yuuri didn’t bother to translate, reaching up. Viktor leaned down out of instinct, and she cupped his face in her hands, her eyes shining. Viktor’s role had always been nebulous—coach but more than coach, guest but family. Now, he felt all the extraneous threads and complicated relationships melt away.  
The warmth didn’t last. Yuuri had stiffened over talk during the family dinner, and a travel-weary Viktor could only follow the conversation as far as ‘Rostelcom cup.” The conversation became more heated, the words faster and tenser. Viktor had reached over to take Yuuri’s had, and instead he left the table with a sharp ‘Goodnight’. The table fell silent, and Viktor took great interest in the remaining pickles in his rice bowl. Was he supposed to go after Yuuri, and shirk his parents, or would that make things worse? Viktor had promised to make things happen no matter what, but he had imagined a few days of shmoozing and caring for Yuuri. Not ruining another family.  
Viktor waited until everyone had finished, standing up to help gather the dishes. It was uncomfortably quiet, and Viktor thanked every higher power in the world when Mari rounded the table.  
“Come.” She said, touching his shoulder. He set the plates down, the china clinking, and followed her to the balcony where he and Yuuri had watched the summer storm months ago. She pulled out a pack of cigarettes from the inside of her jacket, holding it out to him. Any other day, he would have declined politely, but today he indulged. She lit his cigarette first with an abnormally cute lighter, before lighting her own. In the late evening blue light, the burning tobacco looked like a firefly. He watched her expectantly, trying hard not to cough. He didn’t smoke and dare damage his stamina on the ice—but that didn’t mean he hadn’t tried before.  
“Why.” Mari said, after taking a drag and breathing out the smoke, tapping the ring on his right hand.  
Shit.   
He had no idea how to put his reasons and feelings into words, nevertheless explain it to the sister of the man he loved. Definitely not with his limited Japanese and her limited English and even more limited Russian.  
“Uhmm, well, I.. I China, I…” He stared at his cigarette and the ash that fell to his bare feet.  
“No. In china, its left hand too.” Viktor felt relief wash over him like a dip into the onsen after a hard training day.  
“Oh. Well, in Russia it goes on the right hand , and Yuuri was so happy when I said that…” Viktor smiled for the first time in what felt like days.  
“Yuuri is very happy with you.” Mari stared out over to the koi pond. Viktor expected this to be followed up with ‘If you break his heart, I’ll kill you.” But nothing came. She finished her cigarette, stamping it out in a lacquer tray . “Naha is very expensive.”  
Viktor could only manage a strangled noise of confusion.  
“Tokyo is too far. Hyogo, not so bad. Naha is best for wedding papers.”  
Viktor wondered how many kinds of love there was, and how strongly he could feel it for Yuuri’s sister.  
The rings never came up in conversation again. It was taken over by tense conversations and long trips to Fukuoka. Yuuri started on a new medicine. They went back to practicing, and after a rough first day, things started to look up. Yuuri ate well, and had enough energy to practice for a few hours at a time.  
Then, the morning of his birthday, Viktor was determined to pamper him. He woke up early, tasking Makkachin and Vicchan to take his place in bed. He went downstairs, practicing the phrase duolingo had given him and google translate had confirmed. Hiroko giggled, but let him take over the kitchen nonetheless. Viktor went back upstairs with breakfast for two on a tray, waking Yuuri with a kiss. He had coffee with too much milk and sugar, just the way Yuuri liked it. Yuuri flushed as pink as the fruit Viktor fed him, but Yuuri indulged him. It was a beautiful morning, and the sun was shining, which made it even harder to take the shadow the world threw over his little corner of it.  
Viktor moved with Yuuri, sitting up and taking a comb from the bedside table. He usually only did it during competition days, but today was special. He ran the comb through Yuuri’s head, and he melted, closing his eyes.  
“You’re making such a big deal, it’s kind of embarrassing.” Yuuri murmured, but made no move to stop him from pulling the comb through his hair.  
“It’s your birthday, Yuuri. It is a big deal.” Viktor pulled the comb to the end of Yuuri’s hair. It was getting longer. Had he ever seen Yuuri go to a barber? He set it back at the crown of Yuuri’s head, pulling it back. He caught it before it could float onto the bedsheet and into Yuuri’s field of vision. He stopped, holding the clump of hair in his hand.  
“I didn’t mean stop.” Yuuri laughed softly, his fingers twisting in the sheets. Viktor swallowed back the lump in his throat, pulling the comb through Yuuri’s dark hair again. He moved quickly, carefully avoiding going over the same place twice, as he usually did. He caught the hair that fell out in his palm, curling his fingers over it. Would he save it, like he had with his mother’s silver curls, or did he make it disappear?  
“Viktor?” His heart froze, then restarted when Yuuri corrected himself. “Ah, Vitenka… can I…?” Yuuri’s shyness killed him, and his hands tightened when Yuuri’s went for his. He took the comb from his hands before Viktor’s grip snapped the black plastic tool in half.  
“What?” He shoved his hands in his pockets, thanking all the patron saints and the local gods that he had stolen Yuuri’s U of M sweats last night.  
“You. I’ve always wanted to do you. Uh, your hair.” Yuuri flustered before Viktor could even manage a knowing smirk. He slid off the bed, sitting on the floor, resting his head against Yuuri’s knees. It felt off, not having to worry about feet or shins to bang, but it was nice. Because it was Yuuri. He ran the comb through his hair, combing it into his fingers before letting it fall. Viktor wished he still had his long hair, so that this would last an hour rather than a few minutes.  
“How are you feeling, Yuuri?” Viktor sighed, closing his eyes as the teeth of the comb brushed his scalm and sent shivers down his spine.  
“Happy.” Yuuri said softly.  
They spent part of the day on the ice, partially to practice, but mostly because that is where Yuuri found his peace. They skated with Yuuko and the triplets, showing off their pair skate to the starry-eyed miniature fans. When it came time for dinner, they all converged at Yuutopia for nabe hot pot and beer. Minako sensei joined, arriving half an hour late with a cake piled high with sweet orange fruit Viktor couldn’t place, and a chocolate plate with a pair of ice skates and Yuuri’s name drawn in white chocolate script. No gifts were given, except for the small blessing of an early retirement of Yuuri’s parents, and the arrival of Takeshi to pick up the triplets. What Viktor had thought was flavored water turned into can chu-hi sake. And Viktor only knew this because of Yuuri, who had gone from sitting next to Viktor, to laying against him, to crawling onto his lap and melting into him. Viktor fought against himself, fighting between letting his body think for him in front of Yuuri’s entire Japanese life, or to stay in his head, which was at the moment was focused on the thin spot on the back of Yuuri’s head.  
He was entirely too sober for this.  
“Yuuri, why aren’t you sharing?” Viktor whined, putting on his best puppy face just as Yuuri placed a cup to his lips. Yuuri, two drinks ago, would have freaked out and grabbed an entire bottle just for Viktor. Yuuri now, however, just smiled and held the sake cup to Viktor’s lips.  
“Oh, I like this Yuuri.” Viktor cooed, and Yuuri laughed. He twisted in his lap until he was straddling Viktor, his hips pressed against Viktor unbearably.  
“Is this enough Eros?” Yuuri laughed, snorting a little. He tried to pour another glass of sake, but missed it, dribbling it onto Viktor’s stomach. Before he could say anything, or come up with a tease worthy enough for this fuzzy Yuuri, his hands were under his shirt, pushing it up and over Viktor’s chest.  
“Oh , Yuuri.” Viktor gasped.  
“Bye Yuuri!” Yuuko sang, dragging Minako out of the room with her. Yuuri waved without looking up, pressing his tongue against Viktor’s skin again. Viktor pulled his shirt the rest of the way off, if only to see this Yuuri more. Yuuri crawled up him, his weight pressing Viktor’s back down against the tatami.  
“Where did this come from, Yuuri?” Viktor couldn’t steady his voice enough to keep the pleasure leaking into it. He could feel Yuuri pressed against his stomach, and how hot he was in every meaning on the word.  
“Right here.” Yuuri kissed Viktor, sloppier than he ever had before. Viktor reached down, pulling up Yuuri’s t-shirt, running his hand over the softness that still lingered around his stomach.  
“We had katsudon three hours ago, love. Isn’t your Eros a little delayed?” Viktor teased, and Yuuri drew back.   
“I said katsudon, but it wasn’t ever that. I thought about Viktor. All the time.” Yuuri pulled his shirt off, Viktor helping when it caught on his ears.   
Viktor blinked away the tears, but it was too late. Yuuri leaned down, kissing them away from his cheeks and following the trail to his jawline.  
“Yuuri.” Viktor traced his collarbone, and counted the scattering of purple and grey across his skin like jewels. “Yuuri.” Viktor said with more passion and less patience. “How can you say such perfect things?”   
Ten. There were ten Viktor could see, just at shoulder height.  
“It’s nothing. It’s not like what you say so easily.” Yuuri’s voice reverberated in Viktor’s bones, humming through his jaw and into his spine and into his entire being. “I just want to return it.”  
“Only you would turn me on, and then play with my heart so easily.” Viktor panted, the alcohol and Yuuri and the bruises too much. He closed his eyes, and willed himself not to check out, and just ride the overflow until it evened out. This was life, this was love, even though it was taking a turn for the worse. He had promised himself to ride it out. He had promised.  
“I’m sorry.” Yuuri drew back, and rolled onto his side. His palms were red and impressed with the grain of the tatami mats.   
“Don’t be.” Viktor pulled Yuuri against him, off of his side and pressing him against his body.  
Ten, on either side of his spine. One was almost the size of Viktor’s palm.  
Ten days between China and Rostelcom.  
Was there even an international hospital in Moscow?  
“Viktor.” Yuuri half whined, half scolded.  
“Hm?”  
“Stop thinking and start touching me.”


	24. Swab

No matter how many times he went, Viktor could never get used to the hospital.

It wasn’t just the drab tan décor, the linoleum that seemed to stretch for miles. It was the inbetween smells, something between body odor and iodine and unlike anything else. It was the fact that outside of the maternity ward, happy things weren’t happening.  Hospital’s weren’t for the healthy, happy and smiling. Viktor could see right through them—even the brightest smiles were a façade.

Viktor knew Hiroko wasn’t happy.

“… Not responding to the treatments….”

“Other options….”

“….usually last resort…”

“…advise signing up for a transplant as soon as possible.”

The rings had opened new doors to Viktor. Before, he had tuned out to the endless Japanese. Now the hospital in Fukuoka spoke in English when not directly addressing Yuuri’s parents. The older ladies  near the coffee pots in the hospital cafeteria looked at him more softly. The flower stand owner led him to roses instead of daises. It gave him something to touch when Yuuri wasn’t there.

There was another nurse in Yuuri’s room when Viktor returned, twin coffee cups in hand. She had atrociously green furry slippers, and her hair in a high ponytail and moved animatedly. She talked even though Yuuri didn’t  contribute much to the conversation.

“I’m back, Zvezda,”

 Viktor leaned over and placed a kiss on Yuuri’s cheek, more for himself, but a little for the audience. Yuuri blushed, as always, taking one of the coffee cups into his hands.   Since winter had set in, he switched between wearing  the hats his mother knit  to letting Viktor fuss over him. This morning  Yuuri had woken up touch-starved, and had asked him rather than ‘let him’ arrange his hair. With some product and hair straightener (the usual arsenal Viktor used for his own hair) Yuuri looked like he had a side-cut  and not chemotherapy thinning.

“She’s here to sign me up for the international bone marrow registry.” Yuuri offered the explanation before Viktor could ask.

“The what?”

“Bone marrow.. you know… inside bones.. like blood.. and sponge? I don’t know.  If we get a match tt will cure the leukemia.”

Viktor kicked himself internally—after all these months, he  should know the lingo in all three languages in his sleep. It was the least he could do, after all.

He set his own coffee down on Yuuri’s bedside table. The windowsill was lined with flowers, at least two bouquets from Japanese sports magazines. After taking the podium  at the Rostelcom cup, Yuuri was unable to escape the media. The pictures from  Cup of China reappeared—this time with the confirmed diagnosis.

Two weeks,  Viktor announced his withdrawal from the Grand Prix Final. Rather than spend another birthday on a plane, Viktor spent it in the Yuutopia TV room. He got drunk on champagne and love, cake and fried chicken, kissing Yuuri whenever he pulled down his surgical mask. When the rest of the party disbanded, Yuuri  had tugged him out the back door, his breath coming out in anxious quiet clouds. He had led him down Hondoori,   the Main street of Hasetsu in the dark midnight cold. He led him by each Christmas-light illuminated sculpture and scene, the streets quiet and mostly empty but for other couples returning home from a  Christmas date. Yuuri pulled him to the very end of the street, down to the heart-shaped arch lit up with pink cherry blossom bulbs, grabbing the labels of his coat and kissing him with all of the Eros of every performance and practice they had done for the past year.

It had been the best birthday Viktor ever had.

Now,  Viktor felt like his circumstances felt  just as bitter and cold as the world outside felt.

“Can I register too?” Viktor flipped over the poster to the English side—the odds for a match were low, but Viktor had grown up with a mother who was a strong believer in karma.

Which, if he thought about it, was ironic, with how her life ended.

But Viktor didn’t think about it.

If he registered, and matched, and donated, then the world owed him the same for Yuuri.

“Of course!  I love giving the donor spiel even more!” The lady-with-the-atrocious-slippers sang.

“My organization matches people all over the world and arranged the donations, from time off to transportation to paying to have someone to hold your hand as you donate too!  We don’t ask about sex, drugs or rock and roll--- that’s my way of saying, well, sexuality does not keep you from being a registered donor.”

The cheerful tone should have grated Viktors short nerves, but it somehow soothed him. This woman noticed things.

“By signing up to donate, you  commit about 40 hours of your time, including a week or so of taking medicine to beef up your bone marrow and platelets. It will make you feel like you have a cold, and after you donate it will feel like you ran a marathon… but your time will save a life and affect so many people!  Not to mention that TV has it totally wrong! There are no big needles, and no pain—the procedure is done under anesthesia and we will pay to have someone travel with you for support!”

“How much blood do you need?” Viktor began rolling up his sleeves. He had already decided, and the minor details didn’t matter. Yuuri laughed.

“Oh, no blood at all! Just a goods swab!” She ripped open a paper packet before pulling out two oversized q-tip looking instruments.

“Just swallow your spit and get a really good rub!”

Viktor followed the directions, and earned a soft laugh from Yuuri.

“Vitya, you look ridiculous.” He said in the most tender way he could.

“Oh? Well, we are a pair.” Viktor pulled his phone from his pocket, holding it up as Yuuri obliged him in another selfie. He snapped a picture of the two of them, the swabs sticking out of their mouths like walruses.

As always, Phichit was  the first thing he saw as he opened Instagram. The movement was automatic, but Viktor paused.

Maybe he could do more than just donate.

~~

“Vitya. Vitya. Vitenka. Viktor. Viktor.” Another jab to his side and Viktor decided he had to face the facts.  He rolled onto his back, letting Yuuri settle into the new position next to him in bed.

“You’re trending on twitter. And Instagram.”

“Oh? And since when did my Yuuri become a social media expert?” Viktor smiled sweetly, turning up the charm.

“Since when did you replace words with letters? Look.” Yuuri snuggled into his side, holding up his iphone as he scrolled through the tag.

“#cure4yuuri,@nikiforov-v, #hesmybestfriend #streetfashion, #hamster, oh nevermind, look at this.” He scrolled onto a nearly endless feed, some of the posts languages even Victor didn’t recognize. A majority of them, in a heart-meltingly way, were in his beloved Russian, and another good chunk were in Japanese he could read if Yuuri would slow his scrolling.

“People are registering for the bone marrow registry. There’s like 3,000 posts, 100 from today.”

“That’s great, Yuuri. Is twitter the only thing that will wake you up?” Viktor teased as Yuuri dropped his phone onto the bed beside them, rolling onto his stomach.

“This is  a big deal, Vitya. You did this.”

“Are you mad?”

“This is the best thing anyone has ever done for me.” Viktor melted, moving to wrap his arms around his fiancée.

“You cry baby.” He cooed, hugging Yuuri tightly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bethematch.org


	25. Match

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay! My area has been having a few cosplay events, and I've been working full time.  
> As my apology, I offer pictures of my dogs dressed up at Yuri and Yuuri in their Eros and Agape outfits on my Insta @creme13rulee
> 
> I am thinking there are about 2 more chapters until this fic is complete. I have another idea in mind....
> 
> Once again, thank you for reviews/kudos <3

Winter was a double edged sword.

Since taking the season off to support Yuuri, Viktor lost the one thing he spent the majority of his life throwing himself into. Without the weight of practice and sponsorships and Yakov to push him out of bed, the weight of winter and sadness tied him to bed.

If things had gone their way, winter would have ceased to be a problem. All spring, all summer, Yuuri had been a reason to spring out of bed. But when your reason for waking up  didn’t want to roll out of bed either…what reason was there to leave? He wasn’t letting the depression win, no, not at all. He was staying in bed with Yuuri to support him through the chemotherapy.  It wasn’t giving in. Viktor Nikiforov never gave in, he fought until he won.

If only Yuuri would win, too….

Viktor stroked the back of Yuuri’s neck, playing with the feathery soft baby hairs.  The touch on his sensitive skin made Yuuri’s whole body shudder, but he didn’t move away—not that he could.  It was Wednesday, which meant it was Yuuri’s turn to be the little spoon. Moving back meant he was grinding into Viktors hips, and moving forward meant pressing against his arms.  He couldn’t leave Viktor’s arms after the sun rose without a good morning kiss.

“Vitya?” Yuuri spoke before Viktor realized he was fully awake.

“Mmm?”

“I feel like I’m wasting my time.”

If it hadn’t been day three of staying in bed, if it hadn’t been day three of chemo,  Viktor would have protested, playing that he was hurt and insulted. But today, right now,  he understood exactly what Yuuri was saying.

“Do you want to go skating?” He withdrew his arms from around Yuuri to rub at his eyes. Yuuri replied with a tired, noncommittal grunt.

“Too much work…” He rolled over onto his other side and faced Viktor. It was going to be a while before they landed on something to do.

A few years before, Viktor had went to a psychologist. They hadn’t fixed him before the season started, so Viktor moved on. But he took at least one piece of advice with him.

“Well, what’s the first step to going out?” Yuuri wrinkled his nose as Viktor  traced his jawline with a soft touch.

“Getting out of bed.”

“After that?”

“A shower…” He frowned. It had been  long enough for both of them.

“After a shower, we eat…” Viktor hummed.

“Then we leave Hasetsu.”   Viktor rejoiced when Direct Yuuri came out. Usually it was only when he was irritated or fed up with Viktor’s own shenanigans, but it looked like today was different.

“Sounds like a plan.” They shifted in bed, until they were sitting up, Yuuri rubbing his eyes and reaching out blindly for his glasses. Viktor grabbed them and set them in Yuuri’s hand, before rubbing Yuuri’s back through his t-shirt.

“Where’s my legs?” Yuuri mumbled, blinking sleepily through his glasses. If there was anything Viktor loved more than having Yuuri in his bed, it was seeing Yuuri wake up in it.

“Mmm. I don’t remember.” Viktor sat up further. Makkachin’s tail beat the mattress in a happy wag from the end of the bed. “I could carry you to the bathroom.” He offered.

“No. I can get there myself.” Viktor blamed the unhappy growl on his sleepiness, but that didn’t quite take away the stinging surprise of his tone.  They  had torn down most of the walls between them, and found ways to skirt around the others, but it was rare to find new boundaries after spending so much time together.

“They’re over here.” Viktor said after a long beat of silence, taking the prosthetics from his side of te footboard and handing them to Yuuri. Yuuri took out the balled up liner socks from the sockets with practiced thoughtlessness, pulling them on. Viktor waited, scratching his chest and yawning. He would wait centuries for Yuuri, and it often felt like  it took him that long to wake up.

“Sh—“  Yuuri said something of a curse in Japanese (Viktor knew how to curse in every language spoken in every country that participated in the ISU) wobbling as  he pushed himself onto his feet.

“Yuuri?” Viktor looked up wide eyed. He should have been there to catch him, but that could have sparked his anger too. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” Yuuri snapped, grasping the edge of the footboard.  “Just.. swelling I guess.” He moved his weight from foot to foot before letting go.

They went to the bath together, Yuuri taking the plastic stool and Viktor grabbing his shampoo.  It had taken a few months, but Viktor had finally gotten Yuuri to use /actual/ shampoo and conditioner that cost more than 200 yen and came in separate bottles. Yuuri  had listened patiently to his rant that shampoo and conditioners did two different things and shouldn’t exist in the same bottle before shrugging his shoulders and letting Viktor have free reign of the morning routine.

“Vitya..” Yuuri said shyly, his eyes downcast and slightly squinted—a look that reminded him of the Eros routine, which sounded a lot more romantic than myopia.

“Yuuri?” Viktor sang back, sitting on the stool facing Yuuri,  holding a handful of the 3000 yen Tsubaki shampoo in his palm. Yuuri scooped it out of his palm before smoothing it into  Viktor’s slicked back wet hair. Viktor automatically leaned into his hands, melting at the gestures and the shivers that jolted up his spine as Yuuri massaged his scalp.

“I’m sorry for keeping you in and wasting your time.”  Viktor knew that Yuuri was avoiding eye contact even without opening his eyes. He waited until the warm water gushed over his head from the shower head, rinsing out the suds. He watched the bubbles swirl around the drain, circling endlessly until suddenly dropping into the grate without warning or ceremony.

“Yuuri,” He sighed. “You cannot make me do anything I don’t want to do.”

“No one wants to lay in bed for three days.” Yuuri mumbled, playing with the cap of another bottle.

“I agree, but it happens. I’m sorry for not being strong enough to pull you out.”

The faucet dripped.

“I don’t want you to pull me out.  Just having you here is enough.” Yuuri smoothed out Viktor’s smooth locks, pulling them down over his forehead and behind his ear.

Yuuri let Viktor wash his hair in turn, the two of them finishing the ritual in comforted silence. They parted only to finish getting dressed, Yuuri disappearing into his old bedroom.

“Yuuri!” Viktor sang, his heart immediately lifted when said man shuffled out of his room in Viktor’s old Olympics jacket. It was long on him, and drooped at the shoulders, and Viktor loved it all.

Yuuri flushed, steadying himself when Viktor wrapped his arms around him and squeezed him tightly.

“You left it in my room…” He had stopped asking if it was okay, but Viktor continued to react the same way as the first ten times it happened. It was less acting and more reacting with Yuuri—Viktor had felt more and more free the longer he spent with his newly minted fiancée.  Why put up an act when the other person saw right through it?

Viktor followed Yuuri down the stairs, a hand out to steady him as he sleepily made it to the dining room.  As with any other day without skating, it was late and the family had already eaten. Breakfast was set out on the table, but both servings were already set on trays, ready to be brought upstairs.

“Ooooh, mikan jam!” Viktor sang—it was a lot easier to play it up when he felt blood moving through his body.

Yuuri was beyond the marmalade sitting next to their slices of toast, and went right for the green and white envelopes sitting on top of his plastic-wrapped soup bowl.

“What is it Yuuri?” Viktor paused with a butter knife in his hands.

“They said they’d send a letter if they found a match…”

“There’s two letters.” Viktor hummed, looking at the envelope that looked identical to the paperwork he had filled out a few weeks before.

“Two matches…” Viktor set down the jam as he saw the storm of anxiety pass over his face.

“That’s wonderful, Yuuri! You’ll be cured!” Viktor jumped up, going to hug Yuuri. He flopped like a rag doll, resting his head against Viktor’s chest.

“What’s wrong?” The anxiety was not disappearing. Yuuri stared at the two thick envelopes, leaving them on the table.

“The odds are crazy… and of course it happens to me.”

“What, Yuuri? This is amazing! You’ll feel better, we can go back to skating. All our problems are solved!” Viktor could feel irritation spark inside his chest. Of course Yuuri couldn’t be happy—he was always worrying about  this, that or the other. A miracle landed in his lap, and it was as if it was a death notice.

“I have to choose,” Yuuri eeked out, his voice small. He still did not dare touch the envelope.

“That’ll be easy. If it’s someone like JJ, we say no, and take the other person. If we don’t like either person, we pick the person we like the least.” Problem solved.

Yuuri sighed. Viktor knew he had said something wrong, but Yuuri didn’t have the energy to go into it.

“We don’t even know the choices. We’ll worry about it then.” Viktor reached over, plucking the envelopes from the table and ripping the ends open. He pulled out the wad of paperwork, dropping the return envelope onto the table and flinging the consent forms away.  “Let’s see…. It’s in Japanese.” His tone took a dip into disappointment as Yuuri snatched the remaining two papers from the packets.

“Of course, this is Japan…” Yuuri said, letting his mood leak out a little, before he turned the letter right side up and scanned it. His glasses slid down his nose, and he didn’t take the time to push them up.

“Mari…” Yuuri said in a whisper.

“Amazing! And?” Viktor clapped his hands, and Yuuri slid the paper under the other one, now knowing exactly where to read.

And read again.

And reread again.

“Is it JJ?” Viktor said, moving his hands onto his hips.

It looked like Yuuri had forgotten how to breathe.

“It’s you.”


	26. Translation

Oh God Oh God Oh God oh God.  
“Amazing, Yuuri!” Viktor couldn’t ignore the rush of adrenaline pushing through his veins.  
But it was his body. He could rename it. It was excitement, and not fear.  
Hell, it was romantic. What was more romantic than saving the love-of-your-life’s life?  
Viktor would willingly give his heart to Yuuri, but being willing to and actually doing it was miles apart.  
Maybe not miles, but definitely needles and knives apart.  
“When do we start?” Viktor pushed a wide smile onto his face. Yuuri was too busy fretting to call him on it, which was another one of the many paradoxes in their relationship.  
“What?” Yuuri looked up, squinting a little.  
“When do we go into surgery?” Viktor turned up the wattage on his bright smile.  
“Viktor…” Yuuri dropped his hands down to his sides, loosely holding the letters. “Mari applied, I can’t just ignore it like that.” The papers crumpled a little between his fingers.  
“Of course you can! There’s two matches.” The way Yuuri pursed his lips was confusing and so, so annoying. What was the big deal?  
“I have to think about it.” Viktor was about to offer another word of encouragement, but the words died before they were formed. Yuuri turned, leaving the room , and the breakfast behind.  
~~~  
Viktor scrolled through the contacts on his phone. Chris wouldn’t do. It was early morning where he was, and he was either already training or sleeping on a rare rest day. He wasn’t signed in on Skype either. Yuri Plisetsky would be training, and had started making retching noises into the microphone the last time Viktor tried to talk relationship trouble with him.   
Mila's solution to everything was a new set of lingerie, and this wasn’t that kind of problem.  
It was a Yuuri problem. Which meant Phichit.  
“Is Yuuri okay?” The app had only rung once, and Phichit talked before Viktor could even utter a greeting.  
“Yes. Kind of.” He added, just so he could keep him on the line. He didn’t want to tease anyone important to Yuuri, but this WAS a Yuuri Problem.  
“Physical or mental?” It sounded like Phichit was rolling out of bed. It was a wonder either of them made it through training together—maybe Celestino was a late sleeper too?  
“Mental, I guess.”  
“How long since his last shower?”  
“Ten minutes. We just had one a while ago.”  
There was a pause, but no further comment.  
“Has he had coffee yet? Sometimes he’s mean before caffeine.”  
Was this a best friend or a therapy bot? Viktor sighed.  
“No, but its bigger than that. He has a match. Two matches.”  
“He’s going to be cured?!” There was a thump, as if the Thai skater jumped for joy and hit the ceiling.  
“Yeah, but he was super gloomy about it.” A whine escaped Viktors lips involuntarily.  
“What, was the match JJ?”   
Viktor couldn’t help but smirk.  
“No. Mari… and me.”  
“Ohhhh.” Obviously Phichit was on another level entirely, as he instantly understood. It stung.  
“Ohhh what? Why is he so gloomy?” Viktor snapped.  
“Multicultural love!” Phichit cooed, and Viktor felt like throwing down the phone.   
“And?” He couldn’t keep from sounding bitter, but it didn’t seem to bother Phichit.  
“He has to choose between family and his life-long idol. “  
“Obviously.”  
“I’m sure Mari would want you to do it, because she grew up with Yuuri fawning over you, but Yuuri’s freaking out over the family bit.”  
“If Mari doesn’t mind, then what’s the big deal? I don’t see the multicultural love either.”  
“Okay, Winner McWinnerson.” Phichit sighed. “You are Russian. Yuuri is Japanese.”  
“Really.”  
“Yeah, crazy isn’t it! Family is a big deal in Japan. And Thailand, and most of Asia, but let’s focus on Japan. And Yuuri. His family has supported him through his skating career, his college, his cancer… it would be a dick move to just ignore all that and dance off with his new foreign boyfriend.”  
“Fiancé.”  
“Fiancé, without considering his family’s feelings. He probably doesn’t want to feel like a burden either, but if Mari went through the trouble to get tested, and if she’s the best match, then he should go with her.”  
“Of course.” Guilt crept onto his shoulders. He didn’t even consider that Mari would be a better match, and that he had pretty much made the decision for Yuuri in the spur of the moment.  
“But if he goes with Mari, then he’ll feel like he disappointed you. He probably is also freaking out over the idea of having your cells inside him. It’s a big jump from meeting your idol to having their bone marrow.”  
All the Gods in the heaven must have put Phichit and Yuuri together for this very reason.  
“Thank you.” Viktor let out a breath he didn’t think he had been holding. If only he had a Yuuri translator all the time. “I’m going to go talk to him.”  
“If he’s really bad, make some mac and cheese. I’m pretty sure Ciao Ciao still sends him boxes.”  
They said their goodbyes, and Viktor hung up feeling slightly more at ease. He crept upstairs, expecting Yuuri to be in his old bedroom. Instead, he was in Viktor’s-now-Viktor-and-Yuuri’s room, his arms wrapped around Vicchan while Makkachin curled into the small of Yuuri’s back. Viktor crawled onto the bed on his hands and his knees, reaching out to touch Yuuri’s face. His cheeks were wet and sticky with half-dried tears.  
“Yuuri, if you want to---“  
“I’m going to tell Mari that I can’t.”  
“Can’t what?”  
“I’ll tell her that we can’t afford to take both of us out of Yuutopia, and it’s off-season for you.”  
“Oh, Yuuri.” He curled around his love, Makkachin sandwiched between them, her tongue lolling out happily. “We can talk about it over dinner. It will take a week to get ready anyway.”  
“You should ask Yurio.”  
“What?” If anything, he was going to call Phichit over to thank him for his part in translating Yuuri.  
“Ask them to fly Yurio over to hold your hand. For the surgery. Last time he was here we were too busy worrying about me. He deserves more time with you.” Yuuri’s voice was thick, but determined.  
Viktor nearly melted into goo. How did he find this angel of a man? When had Yuuri fallen from the heavens and into his arms?  
“I’ll call him tonight.”  
“Promise?”  
“I promise. He will be happy to hear his friend is cured.”  
Yuuri scoffed, rolling his eyes and his body over just so Viktor could see how incredulous he was. “No way.”  
“He likes you. He doesn’t act like it, he is a cat that way. But he does. He knew your name in Sochi.”  
“Then he should definitely be here.” Yuuri’s face softened, as the stress was replaced with a shade of flattery.


	27. Transplant

“Don’t think too much of it.” Yuri said gruffly, as he tied the last knot of the red string around Viktor’s wrist. Yuuri’s string already hung off his wrist, bright against his pale skin. While Viktor had been taking the medicine to ramp up his immune system, Yuuri had been working on  destroying his. It got harder as each day  came and went.  Yuuri ate whatever he wanted… when he could manage to, but he seemed lighter each time Viktor held him. In the weeks between the match and the surgery date,  they had moved their bed downstairs as Yuuri used his prosthetics less and less.   No matter how many times Viktor cooed about the softness the swelling gave Yuuri’s features and limbs, there was no positive spin for Yuuri.

“Friendship bracelets?” Yuuri had asked, when Yuri had pulled out his souvenirs from his suitcase.

“Don’t be stupid. They’re good luck charms.” Yuri kept up his tough guy act, but took extra care when he wound the braided string around Yuuri’s wrist. “I made them for you and Viktor, so you don’t end up on the news again.”

The simple string meant  more than a thousand jars of varenye preserves,  but Viktor knew the little Russian fairy  well enough  that being sappy was not an option. Viktor swallowed back the emotion and tears that had welled up his throat.

“Thank you, Yuri.” Yuuri said softly. “I’m glad you had time to visit. Mari missed you.”

“I know! She already gave me the sick tiger backpack.” Just as Viktor thought they had traversed the  elephant in the room, the blond turned his head back to Viktor.

  
“So when do they cut you open?”

“They don’t, actually, it’s just a needle..” Viktor couldn’t help the nerves that crept into his voice. He had managed a surgery-free career so far. He was terrified of the upcoming  ‘procedure’, but that was a secret between Viktor and the Holy Ghost.  Nothing was coming between Yuuri and his cure.

“Okay, when are they sucking you dry?” If only  Viktor could access the brazen pubescent ignorance Yuri wielded so well. Yuuri grimaced at the word, and it stabbed at Viktor’s heart.

“Tomorrow. I’ll be out and done before Yuuri’s ready, and then we’ll have a week together while they watch Yuuri in Fukuoka.”

Yuuri had been right. He needed someone to come and distract him. Once he learned that Yuuri would be hospitalized for several weeks, and would not return instantly cured,  anxiety had gnawed at the back of his mind.  Everyone in the family had gotten their fill of hospital since Yuuri’s last diagnosis, and the hospital made Viktor stir crazy. Yuuri’s suggestion of returning to St. Petersburg was out of the question. Chris would’ve flown out in a moment’s notice… but somehow, he knew it had to be Yuri. Losing himself in drinks and dancing would have been nice… but  something about Yuri, how his life ended up so closely following Viktor’s own… It felt more grounding.

After unpacking the remaining snacks and matroshkya , they left Yuuri  in his second nap of the day.  They took Makkachin on a walk to Karugahama, walking in silence, watching the dog chase the waves in and out.

“Yakov’s mad.”

“Of course he is.” Viktor sighed. “I left for a whole season, before using my sponsors and connections to get Yuuri into competition.”

“He’s not mad about that, you know.” Yuri kicked at the sand, shoving his hands into the pocket of his jacket.  “You left, and now you’re getting married and living here.”

“Not married, just engaged until  Yuuri gets back his health.” The response felt canned.

“You left.” The words hung in the salty air.

“I’m going back.” Viktor said, turning to look at Yuri. What was Yuri to him? A rinkmate?  A little brother?

Did titles matter in broken families?

“When?” Yuri spat out. “It’s been over a year, Viktor.  It’s too late to just waltz back with a sorry! You missed Christmas! You missed  the Olympics, you missed everything like it was nothing!”

“I don’t know!” Viktor’s voice ripped open the air and left a void that settled in his chest.

“I don’t know, Yuri. I didn’t know what I was doing when I left. I definitely don’t know  now! Now, I’m just waiting until my star isn’t at deaths door! I’m just waiting.”

Makkachin faceplanted into the surf.  Her face came up sandy and ecstatic.

“We’re waiting too, okay?” Yuri’s  voice was almost lost to the wind.

~~~

“We match.” Yuuri said softly as he sat, for once, next to the hospital bed. Their plastic ID bracelets hung loosely next to the red string Yuri had tied around their wrists the day before.

“That’s why I’m here.” Viktor leaned over the guard rail to press a kiss to Yuuri’s cheek. “I love you.”

“I love you deeper than the sea.” Yuuri murmured, embarrassed, but sappy as ever.

“I love you from my skin to deep inside my bones.” Viktor smiled.

“That’s a shame, you won’t  like me as much  when you wake up.”   Yuuri sighed, as the nurse wiped Viktor’s arm with iodine and began an IV.

“You’ll just have to make it up to me.” Viktor wove his fingers between Yuuri’s.

“We’ll have plenty of time in St. Peterburg.”  Yuuri was watching the nurse move, but Viktor didn’t have the energy to be  jealous.

“Yes, once we get the all clear, we can begin training again.”

Yuuri’s mouth moved, his lips parting, his eyes downcast. “About that.”

Viktor felt his disaster-smile click into place. “Go on?”

“I looked, and I can get a visa in six weeks. Four if we pay extra.”

“Yuuri, that’s only  a week after you end treatment.” Viktor looked affronted--- he was ready to defend skating to Yuuri. After all, he got down on himself often, and it wasn’t hard to defend your life’s calling. He’d done it before.

“I think… I know it will help, Viktor. I’m tired of being sick at home.” Yuuri summoned up his courage,  lifting his eyes to stare directly into Viktor’s, squeezing his hand.

“Then we’ll do it.” Viktor’s true smile returned, and Yuuri sighed in relief.

“Good, because I already sent in the paperwork.”

“Yuuri!” Viktor gasped,  going to dramatically clasp his hands to his heart , before the nurse overpowered him and hung onto his arm with a stern look.

“I love you. They’re going to bring you to the anesthesia ward.” Yuuri smiled nervously, pressing a quick kiss to Viktor’s cheek, then pausing, placing another on his lips. The universe was on  Yuuri’s side with timing. Hopefully his luck would spread.

He watched as they wheeled Viktor’s bed down the hall, holding Viktor’s hand until their fingers slipped from each other, too far apart to touch.

~~

“What is he saying now?” Yuuri laughed.  It felt too mean to record it on his phone, but Yuri and Mari didn’t seem to care.

“He wants his pants before the Swedish nurses come.” Yuri faithfully translated the Russian bubbling from Viktor’s  lips. The first few words hadn’t needed translating—he had cooed over Yuuri as soon as he had awoken from general anesthesia. The effects still took a while to wear off, and if Yuri had anything to do with it, every second would be recorded.

“Vitya, we can’t bring you pants.” Yuuri giggled.  Thankfully, Viktor seemed to receive signals in any language he knew, but his replies only came out in Russian.

“Pantsu… kudasai.” Viktor said slowly, before smiling charmingly. Mari shrieked in delight, and Yuuri turned beet red.

“What did he say? “ Yuri demanded, watching Yuuri bury his face in his hands.

“No, Viktor, pantsu.. means panties.” Yuuri’s voice warbled between embarrassment and laughter.

Another stream of Russian poured out of Viktor’s mouth. Yuuri had always loved the way it sounded, even more so coming out of his fiance’s mouth.

“He says, he needs his  panties  we can leave before the Swedish nurses come for him.” Yuri snickered

“Oh,  Vitya.” Yuuri sighed, scooting forward in his wheelchair.

“Ooh, Yura.” Viktor cooed back, enjoying the flush in the man’s cheeks.

“You should stop before you embarrass yourself more. We got you pudding.” Yuuri pulled his own comfort food from the plastic bag, then fished for the  tiny plastic wrapped spoon.

“The guy’s in an alternate reality, do you really think he’s ready  for soft foods?” Yuri snickered. The video was already uploading to Instagram.

“I believe in him. He’s still in hospital clothes anyway.” Yuuri smiled, peeling off the plastic lid. “Say ‘Aah,’ Vitya.”

Viktor obeyed, opening his heart-shaped mouth cheerfully and leaning forward as Mari snapped another picture.

“You’re already a sickening housewife.” Yuri muttered, kicking out his feet and sitting at the foot of the bed. Yuuri only smiled, scooping another spoonful of pudding.

“I’d be a bad housewife. Viktor’s the only one who knows how to cook.”

“That’s only thanks to Grandpa and Yakov, you know.” Yuri scoffed. “Otherwise he’d live on boiled eggs and toast.”

Yuuri’s smile twisted.  That was what they ate when it was busy  at Yuutopia, and Yuuri hadn’t put much thought into it. He liked to remember the time  Viktor made blini, soft pillowy crepes wrapped around the fruit preserves Viktor pulled out of his suitcase. The  spread was more syrupy than jelly, and Viktor had kissed away every sticky trail from Yuuri’s lips.

“We’re both creatures of habit.” Yuuri  pulled himself out of his reverie and fed Viktor another mouthful of pudding.  It would take at least another hour until Viktor’s donation was filtered and ready to be pumped into Yuuri’s veins. They let Viktor doze, Yuuri finishing off the rest of the pudding and typing up another update for Phichit.

As promised, they woke Viktor when it was Yuuri’s turn. Viktor helped pull Yuuri onto his own bed. They had requested rooms close to another, but Yuuri’s remained empty. The nurse pulled down the collar of Yuuri’s hospital gown, uncapping his central line and attaching the IV line  after flushing it.

All eyes were on the plastic tube as the bone marrow slowly wound its way down.

“It looks like a smoothie.” Yuri broke the awed silence.

“A chunky one.” Yuuri murmured, tracing the  darker translucent  bubble-like shapes down part of the line.

“Delightful.” Viktor muttered soberly.

The nurse returned twenty minutes later.

“Feeling alright?” The nurse checked the line, and Yuuri nodded. He didn’t feel immediately better, like he had wished, but it was hard to feel bad surrounded by family, friends and fiancé.

“We’ll keep pushing it, then. You should be done in an hour.” The nurse changed a setting on the IV machine, before disappearing.

“An hour? It took longer than that  to get it out of me!” Viktor sounded affronted, but his shock turned into a smile.

Yuuri closed his eyes, relaxing into Viktor’s chest. “Round one, Vitya.”

Viktor softened, staring down at Yuuri. Any aches that were poking at the edge of his consciousness disappeared, only to be replaced by warmth.  Yuuri was so much smaller, paler and weaker than he had been that night in that too-dark restaurant. But there was one thing better about this  Yuuri than the ones in his memories—

This Yuuri was his.


	28. Home

 

spinning

endless spirals

carved into the ice

is it a nightmare

or a dream?

my hands in yours

 

 

“You didn’t have enough with Yakov earlier?” Viktor followed Yuuri onto the ice. He was still in his street clothes, a  smart button down underneath his trench coat.  Yuuri said it wasn’t necessarily, but it felt strange  now to visit the rink without changing next to fiancé. They had gone out to dinner, their last night in St. Petersburg before they flew home to Hasetsu.  When it came to turn, Yuuri had tugged him toward the rink instead of the apartment.

Yuuri turned, hopping to make sure his prosthetics sat correctly in his skates. “It’s not like that.”

“You  did.” Viktor laughed, playing off Yuuri’s nervous demeanor.  Viktor thrived under his old coach, and while he knew Yakov loved Yuuri, Viktor also could tell it wore on him. It had taken him a month to stop flinching each time Yakov  barked out the beginning exercises.

“Vitya,” Yuuri whined, pulling on Viktor’s hands. Neither of them had put gloves back on after tying laces.  His fingers were white from squeezing Viktor’s hands tightly.

“I wanted to do this before we left.” Yuuri let out a shaky breath. They were in the center of the rink, alone after-hours. It was quiet enough to hear the hammering heart beat in Yuuri’s chest.

“We have Ice Castle.” Viktor hummed, dropping the subject as Yuuri pulled out the earbuds from his pocket. He handed him his phone, tucking Viktor’s head back himself as he put in the ear buds.

Viktor opened his mouth—they had access to the entire sound system, after all—

“This is just for you.” Yuuri’s adams apple moved up and down as he swallowed nervously. “I can’t think of  the right words for you. So, when I sound stupid in front of everyone at the wedding, try and remember these vows.”

Viktor was stunned staring as Yuuri fumbled to start the track and slide back in time for the cue.

He knew the choreography well. It was a new track in his ears, but the music that came from Yuuri was as familiar as the back of his hand.

He had played that night at Sochi over and over in his mind thousands of times. It melted perfectly into _Eros_ , Yuuri’s arms twisting around himself and reaching for Viktor. He skated bigger and bigger loops around him, and Viktor forgot the chill in his  fingers as he  turned, following  Yuuri’s every movement.

The piano and violin in his ears rose into a crescendo—until it might as well have been a buzz in his ears. Yuuri landed every jump, his hand glancing the ice as he leaned and skated in tighter and tighter circles, a planet pulled in by Viktor’s gravity.

Viktor’s lived on instinct alone, his body taking years on the ice as second nature as Yuuri collided with him,  pushing him back on the ice. They skated together, Yuuri’s arms  wrapped tightly around him.

Yuuri hid his face, pressing it into Viktor’s chest. Viktor felt like his heart would burst. They slowed on the ice, Viktor smoothing back  Yuuri’s hair. It was full and soft. Healthy. He held everything he wanted in life, in the middle of what controlled  most of his life,

“I love you, Viktor Nikiforov.” Yuuri hiccupped, his cheeks wet  with streaming tears.

“Katsuki, in three days.” Viktor surprised himself, getting the words  past the lump of emotion stuck somewhere above his heart. He brushed his thumb against Yuuri’s cheek.

“Huh?” Yuuri’s lips parted in confusion.

It was as good as time as any. It wasn’t meant to be a surprise. Yuuri just had been too nervous and too new to Cryllic when they had visited town hall to register.

“I gave you my blood and marrow. I want your name.” Viktor smiled easily, although Yuuri broke down to an even uglier cry.  Yuuri blubbered something into his hands, but it didn’t matter. He knew exactly what Yuuri was thinking.

 

After a long and tiring 14 hours of travel, they were home.

Makkachin pushed past Hiroko, bounding into the main room, chasing after a something or someone in her second home.

“Ara! My handsome sons have arrived!” Hiroko cooed, her smile bright and oh so familiar. “Okaeri, Yuuri, Vicchan!”  Viktor’s heart was close to bursting. It would be hard to return to Russia without Yuuri’s impulsive non-refundable plane tickets pushing them away.

He reached out, until he found Yuuri, taking his fingers and grounding himself. He drank in the sweet smell of tatami,  the lingering tint of cigarette smoke. The green tea that his mother-in-law had prepared for them. The weight of Yuuri leaning against him, still smelling like peppermint.

It smelled like home. From the sweetness hanging in the air, to the fresh familiar of the sheets as they laid on them. It felt like home, with Yuuri’s heavy eyelids fighting the exhaustion of making connections and close quarters. Yuuri was home—from the jewel-like bruises dotting his elbows and knees and tracing the impact of his prosthetic against his tender flesh. It marked every movement Yuuri had skated for him, and Viktor worshipped each one.  He kissed each one, each mark and scar that he had been there for.  From the fall on the ice to the soft crescent-moon scar where his central line once was.

“Yuuri?” There was just enough moonlight  to  light up Yuuri, and cast a shadow into the neatly folded kimono sitting at the foot of the bed.

“Hmmm?” He opened his eyes. Maybe it was the romantic mood he was in, or just that Viktor thought he was constantly beautiful—but he swore his eyes sparkled.

“I was thinking. About last night.” He watched as panic crawled across Yuuri’s features, and how he fought it back. “And how I want to do something for you. “

“It’s okay Vitya, the wedding is only a day away.” He mumbled sleepily, turning onto his side to face Viktor.

“I know. But I can’t keep this from you. No one would expect that from me either.” A soft smile curled his love’s lips.

“Okay. Do I need to get out of bed?” His voice was soft, warm. Home.

“No, just listen.” He reached out, linking their hands together. The gold rings sparkled.

“I love you.  I love you in every cell in my body, deep inside my bones and as far as I can yell it into the sky. It’s etched into every part of me. It keeps me alive. You always bring up the transplant and act why, but it’s so silly, moya  zvezda , because you are the one keeping me alive. I am blessed to have found you in this big wide world, and I can’t wait to spend the rest of our lives together.”

Viktor looked lovingly into Yuuri’s tear-filled eyes. No side-long glances, no more quickly averted looks. Viktor was going to stare into the bright colorful world. And Yuuri would look back.


End file.
